Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

  “You look beautiful,” he says softly. “You were made to wear black, baby, with that pale skin of yours. It looks fucking amazing.” He picks up a leash and clips it onto the collar. My heart is beating faster now.

  “Why a collar?” My voice sound strange to my own ears…breathless and tentative, somehow, without my usual confidence and control.

  He laughs. “Because it’s sexy as fuck. You have no idea how beautiful you look.” He gives the leash a sharp tug, pulling me toward him until my bare chest is flat against his, my already aroused nipples scraping against his coarse chest hair. Cupping my cheek in his hand, he tilts my face up and kisses me hard and deep. Still holding my chin, he says, “Collars are a symbol of ownership—of your submissiveness and my ultimate control over you. The surrender of your mind, body, and soul to me.”

  “Oh,” I whisper.

  He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, and I suck it into my mouth. I swirl my tongue over the rough pad, and this time he’s the one who inhales sharply. He pulls his thumb out of my mouth and turns to the spread of toys on the bed, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. Maybe he feels the same impossibly wild chemistry I do—the kind that obliterates all rational thought. “What do you want to try first?”

  Oh, God. I’m not sure I want to try anything. I just want to feel Walker’s hands on my skin, feel his cock inside me. “Um…” I stammer. “The blindfold?”

  “We’ve already tried that. Try again.”

  “Maybe the restraints?” His low chuckle sends desire washing over me. “Something new, sweetheart. Tomorrow we’re going to a BDSM club. Playing with the big boys.” His voice takes on a more businesslike tone. “Besides, this is what you want with Declan. You wanted some experience, and to know what you like and don’t like.” For some reason, him mentioning Declan is like a bucket of cold water in my face. “What’s it going to be? The flogger? The nipple clamps?”

  “Not the flogger!” I say quickly.

  He lifts one eyebrow. “No? Scared?”

  “No!” I say quickly, but Walker knows me way too well for me to fool him.

  His eyes gleam wickedly. “You know, knowing it scares you only makes me want to do it more. Kind of like when we went to the amusement park and you were scared to go on the roller coaster. I made you, and you loved it. You told me you just needed a little nudge so you could let yourself go and experience the adrenaline rush. Because whether you’ll admit it or not, you like the rush of doing things that scare you. Things that push your boundaries. It’s just one of the million things we have in common.”

  I remember that day vividly. I’d never been to an amusement park before. It was our senior trip, and even though Walker had been hanging out with his friends and his usual entourage of the cool girls, he insisted on going on the roller coaster with me, especially when he wormed it out of me that I’d never been on one before and I was scared. He grabbed my hand firmly in his, told me in that no-nonsense way of his that I was going on the roller coaster, and as the car started to move, he flashed me that panty-melting grin and told me to let go and enjoy the ride. I clung to him the whole time, but I felt safe because he was next to me. And because I felt safe, I felt free to embrace the exhilaration of the ride. But this…this is different. Or is it?

  “Maybe…” I hedge.

  “You know I would never hurt you,” he says, his eyes serious.

  “Yes. I know.” There is nothing I know more absolutely.

  His eyes crinkle. “At least, not without an equal or additional amount of pleasure.” He stretches out his long, lean body on the bed and gives the leash a little tug. “Come here.”

  Ka-thunk. That raspy command, coupled with his control over my body by way of the leash, has my stomach fluttering uncontrollably. I lie down next to him, and he pulls me into his arms. I could die happy, right here in this moment, with his fingertips lightly skimming over my skin, raising goose bumps of anticipation and desire.

  There’s no fear or shame or self-consciousness, just a sense of rightness. It’s always been easy being with Walker; inexplicably, somehow being with him naked and wearing a collar is just as easy. He strokes up my side and down, then moves over my butt, finding a ticklish spot at the small of my back. I jolt, instinctively trying to squirm away. He tightens his arm around me and does it again. He pauses and smiles, and my stomach drops at the look in his eyes. “I like it when you move like that. I like making you squirm.” His voice has that low, gravelly, teasing tone to it that makes me want him to kiss me senseless. But he doesn’t kiss me. He just tickles me again. And again.

  “Stop!” I gasp. I’m wiggling in earnest now, but the more I try to get away, the firmer his grip on me becomes, as he holds me fast and continues to torture me.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” He’s found another spot now, and he grins wickedly as he scrapes his nails lightly over the sensitive area.

  “I’ll scream,” I threaten with a giggle. “I’ll scream bloody murder and Kevin will come and save me.”

  “Hmm. In that case…” He picks up the strap-looking thing with the ball and dangles it in front of my face. “That’s what a ball gag is for.” He gently pushes it between my lips and fastens it behind my head. It feels huge in my mouth, and I suddenly can’t swallow. Tendrils of panic lick at me. It’s invasive, stretching my jaw uncomfortably and filling up my entire mouth. I want to tell Walker to take it off, but I can’t speak. I’ve never felt so vulnerable or out of control before. Noticing my wild-eyed look, he quickly unbuckles it and removes the gag from my mouth.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “I kind of panicked. It’s so big. I felt so out of control.”

  “That’s kind of the idea,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “And it turns me on like you wouldn’t believe,” he adds, his voice lower. “Let’s try it a little slower, okay?”

  I can’t be a submissive if I panic the first time someone puts a gag in my mouth. This is probably nothing compared to what Declan will expect, judging by the list he gave me. But knowing it turns Walker on is what really convinces me I can do it. I take a deep breath and nod.

  Walker rubs his thumb over my cheekbone, the look in his eyes indiscernible. He brushes the black sphere gently over my lips. I open my mouth, and he pushes the ball between my teeth again gently, but this time, he doesn’t fasten the strap, he just holds it there. I last as long as I can—maybe ten seconds—before I shake my head wildly, trying to push it out with my tongue. “Shh.” His soft command is oddly comforting. I can do this. He holds the ball in my mouth with one finger, his eyes never leaving my face, making sure I’m okay. My eyes stay fixed on his, taking my courage from the look I see in them.

  “You have no idea how sexy you look,” he says, his voice filled with a sort of reverent wonder. “I’ve seen pictures on Tumblr…” He shakes his head. “But baby, nothing compares to seeing it in person on you.” I stare at him, unable to speak. “You look so beautiful,” he rasps. “Somehow, your eyes are even more expressive. It’s phenomenal.”

  He’s stroking my body again, his fingers inching down to explore the wetness between my legs. He delves in, and I’m not thinking about the gag anymore. “I want to fuck you like this…wearing the gag and the collar and leash.” His voice is low and guttural.

  I’m not sure how I feel about the gag; it’s like the roller coaster—it makes me feel terrified, weightless, and ridiculously alive all at the same time. But I know how I feel about Walker, and I’d do anything to see that look in his eyes—as if I’m the most beautiful and cherished woman in his world. I nod.

  He pulls the ball out and stares into my eyes intently.

  “I want that, too,” I whisper.

  “Are you sure? We said it would just be one time…”

  I want him so badly I can taste it. “Shut up and gag me!” The absurdity of that statement hits us at the same time, and we both start laughing. But his smile slowly fades, replaced by a fierce urgency as he
hooks a finger under the collar and tugs up, forcing me closer so our lips are mere centimeters from each other. He lowers his mouth to mine deliberately. His lips are hungry, his tongue plunging into my mouth voraciously as he holds me by the collar and kisses me. It’s even better than Declan’s light grip on my throat.

  He breaks the kiss and picks up the gag.

  “Wait!”

  He stops, one eyebrow arching quizzically as he waits for me to explain.

  “I want to taste you first.”

  He sighs. “I thought we’d sorted this out. I’m onto you, sweetheart.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you start feeling like you’re not the one in control, you pull back and try to regain your equilibrium. And you do it by reversing roles, becoming the one giving pleasure instead of receiving it, because the intensity of it, and the way it makes you feel vulnerable, scares you. You don’t like to let anyone see that carefully concealed girl who’s afraid of rejection, do you?”

  I stare at him, stunned. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know you, Gemma,” he says softly. “I’m never going to say no to your sweet mouth on my cock, but know this. It’s not going to change anything. You’re just putting off the inevitable. I intend to have you. On my terms.”

  There’s an undeniable freedom in having someone see you so intimately, to see the wall you’ve erected and know the reason why and acknowledge it, and then slowly dismantle it brick by brick. But for the first time in my life, that’s not what’s going on.

  “You’re right, but this time, it’s different. This time, I really just want to taste you, to hold you in my mouth and feel you throb with pleasure because of me.”

  He doesn’t answer, but he moves off the bed and gets to his feet, bringing me with him with another tug of the leash. He lets go of the leash and kisses me hard. I drop to my knees in front of him, and with the leash dangling between my breasts, I lick the long, hard length of him. I love the earthy taste of him, and the way I can my make his muscles—so rigorously disciplined by the kind of training most people can’t fathom—quiver involuntarily with nothing but my mouth. I look up at him. “You taste like I belong on my knees.”

  He groans, his head rolling back. He stands motionless, his hand resting lightly on my head as I take him all the way into my mouth. I love everything about giving Walker a blow job—the salty taste of him, the smooth skin of his cock, which is a shade darker than the rest of him, the velvet softness of his shaft beneath my tongue that belies the steel core beneath, but most of all, the running commentary he gives as I throw myself into pleasuring him.

  “Fuck.”

  “Your mouth feels so good.”

  “Oh, yeah, baby.”

  “Take it all. Yes.”

  “God, I love the way you look up at me with those gorgeous eyes of yours when I’m in your mouth.”

  “Mmm. Baby.”

  I’ve never had much of an oral fixation, but I could make a religion out of worshipping Walker’s cock with my mouth, especially when he groans the way he does. Far too soon, he stops me with another upward tug of the leash and a little twitch of his lips. I rise to my feet reluctantly.

  “You ready, baby?”

  I nod, nervous excitement twisting into a knot in my stomach.

  He lays me on my back on the bed and kisses me thoroughly, running his hands over my body and teasing my nipples until I’m writhing with pleasure. Only then does he slip the gag back into my mouth, fastening the strap behind my head. This time he doesn’t give me a chance to panic. Holding the leash tightly with his left hand, he plunges the two middle fingers of his right hand between my soaking thighs and into my wet heat, rubbing my G-spot and sending me instantly into rapture. I moan.

  “Oh, fuck, baby,” he rasps. “Hearing you moan behind that thing…if you knew what it does to me.” He growls. “Damn. I was wrong. I thought you weren’t submissive, but you were made for this shit. The collar, the leash, the gag… You look fucking amazing.” He stops and I whimper, desperate to feel his fingers inside me again. He teases me, his fingers fluttering at the entrance of my yearning sex. “You like that, baby? You want more?”

  I mumble something unintelligible from behind the gag, and he smiles. “I don’t need your mouth to say anything. Your eyes are so expressive, they tell me everything I need to know.”

  He unceremoniously thrusts his two middle fingers into me again, and I scream with pleasure from behind the gag. He picks up speed as I arch my back up, desperate for more. He fucks me relentlessly and roughly, holding the leash taut as he pushes me straight toward the pinnacle. I thrash wildly on the bed, gripping the sheets like they’re going to keep me from falling into oblivion. I can’t take any more. I want to tell him to stop before I go mad, but I can’t. I’m powerless to say anything. I have no choice but to succumb to whatever he demands.

  He was right. The loss of verbal control—my ability to speak and protest being taken from me, or rather, given freely to him—is the ultimate surrender. Being driven to the edge of a pleasure so intense you don’t think you can take it anymore, when you can’t control how fast, or how much, or whether it stops or not, is intoxicating when it’s at the hands of the man you trust more than any other to know what you need before you do. It’s a dark concoction of surrender and passion, and it’s hot as hell.

  He keeps going, and I feel that indescribable tightening at my core. The adrenaline is racing through my veins, coupled with a primal need. I’m careening toward the peak and I scream, but the sound is muffled by the gag.

  “That’s it, baby. I want everything. Nothing makes me feel more like a man than to make you lose control.”

  I shriek as incomparable pleasure racks my body, but the sound is muffled. I can feel myself squirt as I come over and over again, soaking the sheets beneath us. Only when my body is limp does Walker remove the gag and kiss me, his lips and tongue and teeth telling me his need is as desperate as mine.

  “I’m going to fuck you now, but I want to hear you scream this time.” He drives his cock into me and whispers in my ear every depraved thing he’s going to do to me, and my pussy clenches around him with each word. I can feel the fault line as it begins to crack. I’m already primed for the earthquake, and when the waves hit, we fall together.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Walker

  “Damn.” I can feel my jaw drop as Gemma walks out of the bathroom dressed for the club. After lunch, we went shopping at a place called Bayside Stripper Wear for something for her to wear, and although Gemma laughed so hard that beer came out of her nose when I told her the name, the store had just what we were looking for.

  The amazing thing about being with Gemma is that even after an intensely physical night together like last night, we can slide right back into being best friends. I sat outside the dressing room door while she kept me entertained with a hilarious running commentary on each outfit and the stripper names she thought up to go with them. But while she’d modeled half a dozen ridiculous outfits for me, she refused to show me the one she ultimately decided to buy.

  It’s a sexy-as-hell, body-hugging black dress that barely (and I mean barely) covers her ass, revealing legs that go on for fucking ever before ending in a pair of strappy black stiletto heels. An off-the-shoulder neckline reveals her creamy white skin that looks alabaster against the black dress. But it’s more than the dress. I stare at her, trying to figure out why she looks different. Her eyes, for one thing. They’re bigger and wider and greener, somehow. And she’s done something to her hair. Normally straight, tonight it’s a sexy tumble of waves, and it reminds me of how she looks just after I’ve made her come.

  “Is it okay?” She pulls at the bottom of her dress nervously.

  “It’s more than okay. You’re going to give every guy in the place blue balls looking like that.” Including me. Whatever it is we’ve had over the last week is over. I knew it last night as Gemma lay curled in my arms after what was,
hands down, the best night of sex in my life. Hell, the best night of my life, period. Knowing it is one thing. Accepting it is another, and it’s going to take some time. Maybe a lifetime. Gemma is part of the fabric of my soul, the beautiful part that makes me stronger and better.

  But last night was our last. The party at the club goes late—it doesn’t even start until ten—and her flight back to Charleston, and Declan, leaves at eleven tomorrow morning. It’s time for me to concede defeat. Gemma has taken everything I’ve dished out. I’ve spanked her, restrained her, collared her, gagged her, made her beg to come and beg to stop coming. But the more I’ve pushed her, the more she’s taken—and the more we’ve both wanted. I’m starting to think maybe she really is submissive. And maybe I’m dominant. I never knew how heady—how intimate—it could be to take someone to the edge where power and vulnerability meet. The more she needs, the more I want to be needed, and the more trust she gives to me, the more I want to deserve that trust.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says with a small smile, walking over to me and brushing a piece of lint off the shoulder of my tuxedo jacket. The domestic gesture makes my heart yearn for something I never even knew I wanted, but that suddenly seems as necessary as air. I’ve never thought about having someone permanent in my life—someone who would brush the lint off my jacket and tell me to take out the trash, someone I’d make love to night after night and sit across from at the breakfast table every morning. I’ve dated tons of girls, and I’ve fucked even more of them. I like girls. I like spending time with them. However, there’s never been a single one I couldn’t walk away from without a backward glance, much less imagine spending a lifetime with. I never wanted to make them smile; I never wanted to do things for them to make their life easier. I never was impatient to tell them what was going on in my life, or hear about theirs.