A soft moan came from the room to the left. He turned and moved toward it.
The first thing he noticed about Scarlet was how aptly she’d been named. Her red hair fanned out on the champagne-colored bed like a halo of fire. Black and pink candy-striped lingerie hugged her burlesque curves like gift wrapping.
Jerricho gently set his bag down on the floor as he watched, the sight as unexpected as she was beautiful.
Her glossy pink lips open in a silent gasp as she rocked her hips. The silk of her panties straining against her hand as her fingers found the right rhythm. Eyes closed, she gave no indication she’d heard him enter the suite or the room.
She seemed oblivious in her abandon.
Even as strangers, he could tell she was close to coming. There was a desperate edge to her undulations as she chased the pinnacle, a deep-rose flush colored the pale of her skin.
His cock stirred as he mentally selected the crop. He was going to mark her, and she would bruise and stripe beautifully.
Smiling, he leaned his shoulder against the doorway, folded his arms, and patiently waited for the climax.
“Fuuuck.” She groaned the word out, shuddering as she came.
Spent and chest heaving, Scarlet lay with her hand still tucked into her panties as she slowly returned to the world.
He entertained raising his hands to clap.
“I know you’re there.” She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.
It was his first good look at her face. With delicate gray eyes and a cupid’s mouth, her beauty was ethereal.
“Normally, that happens when I get here.” He indicated toward her crotch with his chin.
She laughed. It sounded throaty and all vice.
“I was nervous.” She blushed; already flushed cheeks grew even darker.
“Most people bite their nails when that happens.”
She stared at him then burst into another full laugh.
He liked the sound of it; he hoped she did it often.
Except, she hadn’t hired him to make her laugh. In, out, no complications.
“Rule one. When we’re on my time, you don’t touch your pussy without permission.” His tone was so matter-of-fact; she seemed to take a second.
“Wow. You don’t hold back.” The color in her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t flinch.
“A limit?” Over the phone, she’d been hungry for everything.
She seemed to go inside her head for a moment.
“Do you want to change the terms of hire?” he asked softly to bring her back to him.
“No.” A whispered confession. She slowly shook her head, her eyes never moving from his face.
A barely perceptible twitch moved her body. He’d bet it had nothing to do with embarrassment.
He smiled. “Then take your hand out of your panties, Scarlet. You’ll have to earn your next orgasm.”
Another pause, as if she was considering every step, every acquiescence.
He stayed leaning against the doorjamb and waited; nothing in his demeanor changed. She wanted him to dominate her, but the question was, did she want to be led?
Only she had the answer.
Finally, she moved.
Dragging her hand up to her belly, she let it rest there as her fingers lazily stroked her skin. He imagined her under his fingers, imagined the luxurious feel of her. A warm silence settled as her eyes raked over him with languid candor.
Two animals circling each other.
He let her measure him first, comfortable in her scrutiny. Her slow smile told him she liked what she saw.
“I didn’t know about the face. You’re gorgeous. The accent is French. No, not quite French … it’s similar but different.” Her brow furrowed. “Where are you from?”
“Iran.” He passed over the reference to his French heritage.
She raised a curious brow.
“Christian Iran.”
“Do you have to do that often?”
“What?”
“Defend your nationality or religion? Qualify yourself?”
Jerricho shrugged, things went easier when he did. Life post 9/11.
“Well, I don’t care where you come from or what religion you are, Jerricho Black, because we are not going to pray.” The sin in her smile was enough to send a man to any of the hells he believed in.
“You’d be surprised the number of wayward nuns who confess to me.” He gave a wolfish smile.
She laughed with that same throaty sound. He imagined his cock sliding into those vibrations.
Muscles, nerves, tendons began to tighten.
It seemed he didn’t mind making her laugh.
“Ready?” Was he?
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel like they were about to play a dangerous game.
She drew a slow, measured breath before nodding.
“Do you have a safeword, Scarlet?”
She shook her head.
“Have you done this before?” Was that hesitation he was sensing?
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared of rough. I know what I’m paying for. And since I’m paying, shall we begin?”
A contradiction of impatience and nerves.
He should stop here.
He should walk away.
He should never have come.
Two thousand dollars.
She was a big girl.
A consenting adult.
And that attitude she’d just dealt him, made him really want to fuck it out of her.
So, it seemed that he was staying.
He pushed off the wall, picked up his bag, and put it on the console table. “If you don’t have a regular safeword, we’ll use the universal red.” It was easier to remember when clients used the same thing. “To be clear, when you say rough, you mean both sex and play?”
She sighed. “Are we going to go through the whole checklist again?”
“No. I just want us to be clear.” He smiled. If she knew him better, she’d know the smile was anything but friendly. “Are we clear, Scarlet?”
“As a bell.”
Something moved inside him, primal desire brushing under his skin. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to conquer her.
“Last thing is the money.” He focused back on the business. “I prefer we settle that up front. You can put it on the bedside table. I’ll only touch it once we’re done.” He picked up his bag and put it within easy reach of the bed while opening it.
She scooted across the bed and pulled open the drawer. The money sat right next to a dark red bible. Somehow, the sight seemed poignant, and for a moment, they remained silent.
“Make me a believer, Jerricho.” It was barely more than a whisper.
He met her eyes.
“They were both naked,” his words slid into the lower dusky tones of sin, “and they felt no shame. Genesis … somewhere.”
He heard the sharp intake of breath, a rasp that scraped up against him.
“Take off your bra and panties.”
There was a sensual sway of movement as she slowly unwrapped the pale flesh of her breasts. Later, he’d do the same thing, expose her nerves and slowly peel away her control.
He deliberately took his time appreciating the view, let his appetites feed off the sight of her undressing. Let her feel the weight of his inspection.
Let them find and settle into their space.
Dominant.
Submissive.
She sat on the edge of the bed as he opened his bag and reached in for a crop.
Her eyes fixed on the leather toy as he moved toward her. Moving between her thighs, invading her space, his position forced her to spread her legs wide to accommodate him.
“Scarlet.” He called her attention away from his hand, away from the crop.
This close, she was forced to look up at him.
He raised his free hand to lightly trace across her collarbone, his finger drawing a line from one shoulder to the other.
Her
eyes closed as her body trembled with an erotic shudder.
He’d always found the defined line of bone innately sexy. The hollow dips of the shoulders, the frame it made below her throat, such a rigid thing with such a fragile beauty.
Still drawing, he traced a line down her sternum, stopping to lightly rest one finger just above the valley of her breasts.
Her lids fluttered open while he paused, looking up at him as she leaned in to push against his finger, increasing the contact.
Wanting.
The promise of a touch could be as erotic as the touch itself.
He watched her bloom under that promise.
Pupils dilated, skin flushed, shallow breathing.
She was turned on.
So was he.
Their heat warmed the air between them.
“What’s the safeword, Scarlet?”
“Red.” This time, there was no sass, just a soft whisper.
“Good girl.” He smiled. “It’s the perfect word for you.” He ghosted a touch across her ribs, just under the curve of her breasts. Close enough for her to notice. Close enough for her to imagine him brushing the soft underside of their swell. Close enough to feel the pull of his imaginary touch in her nipples.
“It is because of my hair?”
She was lovely like this, softer.
“That’s one reason.” His eyes followed the lazy trail of his finger circling the outside of her breast. “The other reason is my crop.”
She mewled, a sound of impatience and want.
“Soon.” He changed the pressure of his touch, scraping a nail over her breastbone to leave a stinging line up her center.
Rough.
He dropped his hand, “Soon, I’m going to give your breasts all my devoted attention.”
There was that noise again, a small, utterly feminine sound that elicited a visceral tug on his nerves. His muscles tightened.
“I’m going to crop your thighs.” He tapped the forgotten leather tongue of the crop on the sensitive splayed flesh. “Your ass.” He tapped the outside of her flank. “And not least” —his free hand moved back to trace her mouth— “your very inviting pussy.” He pushed and two thick fingers sank into the soft wet pull of her lips. “Every inch of skin that should be kissed is going to be touched.” His fingers slowly thrust into her mouth. “I’m going to leave you hot … and stinging … and ….” His wet fingers pulled free and painted down her chin.
“Red,” she breathed the word on cue. Her short, shallow breaths making her chest rise and fall in anticipation.
“Yes. Red.” He smiled. “Then I’m going to sink my cock into you and fuck you until nothing else exists.”
She made that sound and his stomach muscles clenched. He was growing very fond of that little noise.
Her eyes shone as he held her gaze. She seemed so very exposed like this. So very naked.
And then she blinked, as if she’d just had the same realization.
“Do you think I’m beautiful?”
She had caught him off guard.
Not the words. Her tone. Vulnerability was buried behind the question.
This wasn’t about looks. This was about being desirable.
Anger flashed through him at whoever had rejected her, made her feel unwanted.
Was it her hand?
He’d noticed she only had four fingers on her left hand. Plastic surgery had reshaped her palm, narrowing it slightly to curve and meet her fingers, making it easy to miss any disfigurement.
“The truth.” Her voice held a slight quaver. “Just because there’s money between us doesn’t mean we should be liars.”
He’d hesitated too long.
“Yes,” he said softly.
She looked as if she needed to hear it again.
“Yes.” He caught her arm just above the elbow and tugged it toward him. His hand slid down her forearm until he cupped her palm over his thick erection. “I think you are exquisitely beautiful.”
“Then show me.” Her fingers curled, exploring him through the crotch of his trousers. “I want to remember what beautiful feels like.”
A twinge pierced his chest.
This wasn’t about beauty.
This was about rejection.
About being shut out.
This was about wanting to be loved.
This was how they connected.
“I’ll leave a memory written on your skin.” His voice textured with gravel as he brushed his fingers against her cheek with the gentlest touch.
Her whole being leaned toward him, strained for him as he stepped back, and her hand fell away.
He’d just made a promise that made everything between them real.
He put down the crop and took his time unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to the elbows.
Maybe he stalled for her.
Maybe for him.
Heart beating harder, he reached for the crop. On a slow exhale; he pushed the leather tip against her chest, leading her to sink with him into the moment.
He used the crop to guide her back onto her elbows. The posture was perfect. She was laid out for his attentions. Leaning on her arms held her in virtual bondage. Without her hands, she was defenseless. With only her will to keep her there, she would be torn between holding position and the instinct to pull away from his blows.
There was a lot he could do with rope and a bag of tricks, but sometimes the simple things held more power, felt more honest.
He placed the tongue of the crop below her right nipple and pushed against her breast with just a hint of pressure.
The nipple responded beautifully, beaded into a hard, little point. So responsive with so little coaxing.
A perfectly behaved breast.
He’d meant what he’d said, she was beautiful. From her tousled red hair to the curve of her waist and the inviting juncture between her thighs, there wasn’t a thing he would change.
He smoothed the leather tip over her skin, running the stiff black tongue across the pale, delicate flesh.
Then a tap.
Lightly against the outside of her breast.
She flinched then laughed at the purely involuntary action.
He smiled “Rough?”
“Yes.” The tip of her tongue touched her top lip as the playfulness faded and her features softened. “Rough.” Like her voice, her eyelids grew heavy with anticipation.
The same sultry heaviness sank into his balls.
He tapped her again.
Harder.
A loud crack against skin.
Her breast quivered as she moaned. Arching her back, she pushed her breasts higher.
He took the invite and hit harder. A bite that left an angry patch of red on the porcelain globe.
Her breath caught, the world held still in the tightness in her features, and then she let go, her body softening on a soft sensual hum as she absorbed the pain and made it pleasure.
Beautiful. Raw. Honest.
He’d promised her real.
Wanted it.
Wanted her to struggle for him. Wanted to watch the conflict on her face, torn between pleasure and pain.
The sadist in him wanted her to suffer.
He drew the crop down her body, watching it twitch and come alive under the leather. He stopped between her spread thighs, the tongue pressed up against her sex. He tapped firm stinging kisses of the crop against her sensitive folds, rhythmic jolts of sensation that would vibrate into her core and run along all those nerves built just for pleasure.
Pleasure that ran up his own hand and pulsed inside him.
He increased the force as he played with the tempo, slapping against her clit until she was squirming, on the edge and panting.
She tilted her hips for more, her pussy glistening.
The crop sliced the air, a vicious strike to her thigh as he caned her with the slender shaft.
Scarlet squealed. Eyes flying open, she looked down at her thigh and the
red welt forming.
Her fingers twitched as if she couldn’t decide whether to stay or … she moved, broke position. He waited for her to say this was a mistake—maybe he wanted it. Instead, she ran her fingers over the bump of the raised stripe on her leg, reverently caressing it.
The muscles in his back rippled, as if her fingertips were all over his body.
When she looked up at him, lips slightly open, he couldn’t hold back the warm rush that flowed through him.
He extended the crop to rest back against the tip of her slit. Now that she understood the rhythm of the game, the mix of pain and pleasure, he’d let her guess what was coming.
Her chest rose and fell on short, shallow breaths as she balanced on the erotic edge, equally wary and wanting.
He loved holding a submissive there, such an exquisite moment of control, a euphoric sense of flow. A groan was held in silence in his chest.
He pushed the flat leather harder, grinding it against the tender flesh.
She sighed, and even though she knew another strike was coming, she couldn’t seem to help but close her eyes.
He let her take the moment of pleasure as he watched her wiggle against the crop, chasing the friction, shameless in her attempt to orgasm.
But she hadn’t earned it yet.
He pulled away, and with a flick of the wrist, he struck her flat on the nipple. She jumped before curling in on herself. Her low moan torn between agony and ecstasy spoke straight to his cock.
Reaching down, he squeezed his aching shaft and waited for her to settle back into position.
He’d been right. She marked beautifully.
***
By the time Jerricho had finished reddening her second breast, Scarlet was burning. Her skin itched and stung and that was nothing compared to the mad buzz inside her.
Heady and drunk.
All that existed was the flow of accept and respond. A choreographed dance. Her rough breathing the background music.
She wanted him to push her more.
Take her higher.
She wanted him to stop and fuck her.
And she wanted to come. God, she needed to come.
She might’ve whimpered that, but she didn’t have an interest in words.
Sensation.
She wanted to be covered in sensation. Wrapped in it.
Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3) Page 4
