“I know that.” But the burning impacts of his hand didn’t slow. “I’m beating her ass for the sheer satisfaction of it.”
“I know . . . OOOW! ALAN! . . . something you’d like . . . OW! . . . even more, you Yankee son of a . . . AH!”
“If it’s punishment you’ve got in mind, it occurs to me that a bit of fucking might do the job nicely,” Taylor said.
“Didn’t you hear her?” Alan continued to pound. “She wants it.”
Rose glanced up and froze at the slow, sadistic smile spreading over Taylor’s face. “Perhaps she should be more careful about what she wishes for. I think the sensation of two cocks sliding into her tight little holes might be . . .” he hesitated, and the smile widened, “an embarrassment of riches.”
• • •
Alan rocked back on his booted heels and watched Rose squirm in the harness that held her suspended from the ceiling. The leather straps circled her waist and shoulders, and her knees were drawn up to her chest and clipped to the straps. Her hands were lashed together and bound over her head to the same ceiling hook that held the harness.
The position left her pink sex spread wide and ready below her kicking calves as she writhed in the harness—a tight, delectably helpless package, ready for male pleasure. “Inventive rig,” he commented.
Taylor eyed their struggling captive with satisfaction. “Yes, it does solve a multitude of problems. She can be penetrated any way that suits with a minimum of awkwardness. And, of course, she can be flogged just as easily.”
Rose’s dark eyes glittered at them over her gag; Alan could almost feel the burn of her rage. She’d been so bitter and vocal in her objections that Taylor had buckled a length of leather over her mouth to silence her.
Frowning, Alan moved closer and reached to probe between her thighs. Despite her earlier complaints, the delicate lips felt slick and dewed with desire. He felt his cock pulse in lust. Slipping a finger deeply into her channel, Alan lifted his head to meet her dark eyes. They looked vague and hot with hunger. Suddenly she jumped, a muffled sound escaping from the gag.
“I’ve always loved a tight female ass,” Taylor said from behind her. “I don’t know about you, McReynolds, but I am more than ready to begin.”
Alan swallowed. “Yeah. So am I.” He reached for his fly.
Breathing hard through her nose, Rose watched Alan free his beautifully erect cock. The harness put brutal pressure on her armpits, and her doubled pose made it difficult to breathe, but her drug-induced desire was so great, she didn’t care. The need to feel Alan thrust into her devoured Rose.
Eyes glittering, her lover stepped between her wide-spread thighs. Staring into her face, he touched her sex with the broad, smooth head of his organ, then dragged it back and forth through her desperate slit. Her core seemed to open and clench as if reaching for him. Unable to help herself, Rose made a muffled, pleading sound behind her gag.
Alan smiled slowly. Then, with a skillful twist, he drove into her. She caught her breath at the feeling of her needy tissues spreading hungrily around his hard satin organ. He drew in a hissing breath and his eyes slid closed. Big hands closed over her hips, holding her still as he began a forceful hunching. She wanted to reach for him, but her bound hands could only clench at one another.
With a greedy growl, Alan buried his face in the curve of her throat and nibbled and sucked at the taut flesh as he gored her in long strokes. She quivered helplessly as his big shaft sated the hunger that had tormented her since Taylor had anointed her with that demonic cream.
A pair of broad hands closed over her hard nipples to pluck and twist them. “MMmmm. Nice, eh?” Taylor purred in her ear. “All that cock in your hungry little cunt. But what about your ass? As I remember, I greased your tiny bung pretty thoroughly, too . . .”
His hands tightened painfully on her breasts, immobilizing her. Something blunt and smooth probed at her anus. “Luckily, I’ve got just what you need.”
Rose whined behind her gag as his massive length began to penetrate her. Alan paused, buried deep, to allow Taylor to complete her impalement.
Slowly the Union captain drove his organ deeper into Rose’s asshole until, at last, she was completely stuffed with hard male flesh. She gasped helplessly, unable to breathe, trapped and gored.
With a single violent gesture, Alan reached up and dragged at the buckle of her gag until it fell free and she was able to suck in a grateful breath.
“God, she’s tiny,” the captain grunted. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a tight asshole.” Slowly he began to withdraw, his organ sliding along her well-greased channel. Rose squirmed, finding something almost satisfying about the feeling. The deep, relentless burn of the cream he’d used was soothed by his hard, ruthless cock.
He stroked inside again as Alan withdrew. Rose felt the two thick shafts pass each other in her helplessly spread body. She could only writhe. “Nooo,” she moaned, though she’d die if they stopped.
“Yes.” Alan dipped his head and found her swollen lips, kissing her with hungry intensity. Taylor’s thick fingers caressed her nipples again, plucking and rolling even as he fucked her ass with lingering strokes. At the same time, Alan’s pelvis ground into her clit, his rod shuttling back and forth in her wet sex.
Rose tossed her head, feeling surrounded by male muscle and bone. There seemed to be far more than four hands on her, and she felt plugged to the throat with cock. It should have hurt. Instead, she felt only a voluptuous pleasure that grew with every stroke.
“I envy you, McReynolds,” Taylor growled suddenly. “Having a tight, luscious little captive like this to bugger and fuck. No wonder you haven’t told headquarters.”
Alan’s hands tightened on her rump. “They’d just put her in some dark little hole of a jail. Much better to . . .” He drove in a hard, deep thrust. “. . . take care of her privately.”
“And so piquant to have a Reb spy at your mercy.” He circled his hips and she whimpered as his organ tormented her rectum.
“Yes.” Alan’s eyes blazed down into her. “Bound and helpless.” His voice roughened, his face darkening. “Ready for . . . whatever I want . . .” He groaned.
They were driving into her quickly now, merciless in hunger. Each stroke stretched and tormented her, stuffed her, jolted her with a blend of delight and pain.
Taylor came first, freezing with his organ buried to the balls in her ass, growling like a wolf. The feeling of his big cock impaling her provided a painful counterpoint to Alan’s last pounding lunges, his hips digging into her clit.
Rose convulsed with a scream as the pleasure exploded through her in a long, pulsing eruption. Even as her orgasm crested, she heard Alan’s triumphant bellow.
• • •
Alan’s hot mouth closed over Rose’s clit. Gently, relentlessly, he began to suck as her thighs twitched with the first pulsing waves of orgasm. Catching his dark head close, she came, keening and twisting as though with a seizure. And still he drew on her button, driving her higher, harder, until she fell back, limp and sated, her thighs spread on the cool sheets.
Dimly, Rose felt him draw away, heard the creak and shift of the bed as he moved up to lie beside her. And, even in her satisfaction, she found herself wishing that he’d entered her, ridden her hard instead of simply bringing her to ecstasy with his mouth.
A niggle of dissatisfaction pierced her pleasure. Two weeks had gone by since Alan and Taylor had taken her together, and nothing had been the same.
As if realizing that he’d gone too far that night, Alan hadn’t touched her for three days afterward. Rose hadn’t minded at the time; she was so sore from the violent fucking she’d gotten that she was hardly up to anything more.
But as time went on, she realized things had changed. True, sometimes he still took her almost ruthlessly, but for the most part, he’d treated her like spun glass. He hadn’t tied her, hadn’t spanked her, hadn’t buggered her. Hadn’t even questioned her.
It came
as a nasty shock to Rose when she realized she wished he would.
There’d been something so violently arousing about those times, about her helplessness, about watching his control slip until at last he had no choice but to take her. She might have been his prisoner, but he’d been a captive, too.
Now all that seemed to be over. Had he gotten bored with her? Was he keeping her out of some sense of duty or guilt or some combination of the two?
“Rose,” Alan said, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
Frowning, she looked at him. He met her eyes, then looked away. Rolling off the bed, he paced to the window as if he couldn’t meet her eyes.
Was he about to send her to prison? Was he going to let her go? And why did she suddenly feel this sinking fear—not of incarceration, but of never seeing him again?
“What is it, Alan?” Rose heard the steadiness in her own voice and was relieved. At least her desolation didn’t show.
He braced a muscled forearm against the window frame and leaned against it, his back rippling. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you. Something important.”
The last of her sensual languor disappeared. “What? What’s happening?”
“Lee surrendered two weeks ago.” Stunned, Rose could only stare.
Alan laughed, a short, harsh bark of sound. “The day after Taylor and I tortured you, as a matter of fact.”
She licked her lips and found her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His broad shoulders rounded a moment, then straightened with a jerk. “Because I knew you’d demand I let you go. And I didn’t want your last memory of me to be my brutalizing you with that bastard Taylor.”
She should be angry. She knew that. So why did she feel this perverse leap of joy?
No, she knew why. It meant Alan still loved her, even knowing she was a spy. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.
“I’ve made arrangements to get you a proper gown,” he continued, sounding almost matter-of-fact. “I had to do some fancy lying to your landlady to explain why you disappeared for so long, but I think I’ve pulled it off. You’ll want to bathe and dress first, but I’ll take you home as soon as you’re finished.”
“What if I don’t want to go home?”
Alan’s head jerked around toward her as his eyes widened. “Not go home? Why?”
Rose stared at him searchingly. “Why did it matter so much that the night with Taylor was not our last together?”
He pivoted to face her, both hands going behind his back, feet bracing until he stood at parade rest. “Because it was wrong. I had no business taking you to him like that, letting him . . .” He stopped and swallowed, looking away. “The other things I did were bad enough, but allowing Taylor to sodomize you . . . I don’t know what I was thinking. When I saw you sucking him, I . . .” He drew in a hard breath. “You don’t do things like that to the woman you love.”
“Love.” The bloom of joy she felt burst wide into wonder. “But I’m a Rebel spy, Alan. I lied to you. I . . .”
“You were serving your country.”
“So were you. You had to get me to talk.”
His mouth twisted into a bitter line. “That wasn’t patriotism. That was lust. That was something dark and . . .”
“Exciting.”
Alan looked at her, caught between shame and defiance. “Yes, it was. It was wrong. You said yourself, I’m no gentleman to do such things and enjoy them.”
“Then I’m no lady. Because there were times . . .” Rose broke off and took a deep breath. “There were times I enjoyed them, too. It was exciting, being at your mercy, feeling your hunger. Even the punishments . . . I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did. I do.” She clenched her fists. “And I don’t want to leave.”
His eyes flared with something hot and dark. Then he looked away. “You can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be wise.”
“When have we ever been wise?
“Rose,” he exploded, wheeling toward her, “there are times I want to take you like that again. I dream about you tied up and helpless, squirming under that damn silk whip. I dream about buggering you, about making you get down on your knees, making you suck me the way you did Taylor. You’ve got to get away from me.”
“What if,” Rose said carefully, heart pounding, “I have the same dreams?”
“How can you?” Disbelief and despair vibrated in his voice.
“How can I go back to being a proper Southern belle, all cool and distant and painfully proper?” She took a deep breath. “How can I do that when I remember what it felt like to be at your mercy—and love every minute of it? I can’t, Alan. And I don’t want to.”
Deliberately she moved between the canopy supports of the bed, turned her back to him, and lifted her hands, grabbing the overhead rails.
Slowly, disbelieving, he took a step toward her, then two. Then he turned away and strode toward the bureau. He reached into the top drawer and brought out a length of rope and a bottle of mineral oil.
Five minutes later, Rose was roped securely to the bed frame, whimpering as Major Alan McReynolds drove his cock into her ass in long, violent digs. But even as her rectum burned under his assault, she sighed in pleasure and relief. She was still his captive.
And he was still hers.
Turn the page for an excerpt from
OATH OF SERVICE
Appearing in Love Bites, Angela Knight’s new anthology of erotic vampire stories
The dominant hauled his pretty companion across his lap and flipped up her short PVC skirt to reveal lacy stockings, a garter belt, and no panties at all. Despite her protesting yelps, he proceeded to spank her in hard, ruthless swats.
Morgana Le Fay tensed, her first instinct to feed him a magical blast that would put him through the nearest wall.
That was not, however, the kind of thing one could do in the middle of a nightclub in front of half the population of New York. Especially when the “victim’s” moan sounded far more like pleasure than pain.
Morgana sent a tendril of magic into the little blonde’s mind to discover she’d been deliberately bratting—whatever that was—to goad her boyfriend into just that response. Judging by her hot arousal, she was thoroughly relishing every stinging impact of his broad hand.
As for the man, a probe of his mind revealed he knew his lover had been trying to manipulate him. It gave him the excuse to pretend an anger he didn’t feel, while meting out a punishment they both enjoyed.
Well, really, Morgana, what did you expect? It is a BDSM club . . .
Morgana watched the girl’s long legs flash, kicking in mock protest. Those creamy buttocks were going nicely rosy, much to the obvious enjoyment of the male patrons who’d turned to watch.
The Maja looked away, trying to ignore her own flare of heat. Keep your mind on the job, witch. Somebody’s killing these people . . . and using magic to do it. You don’t have time for nasty fantasies if you want to stop the bastard.
She scanned the area, keeping her gaze casual, though it was anything but. The Whip Hand was one of New York’s most exclusive clubs, whether devoted to BDSM or more vanilla activities. The membership leaned toward upwardly mobile—if kinky—professionals: doctors, lawyers, bankers, stockbrokers, a celebrity or two. The place accordingly had an air of expensive seduction, between the long, massive bar and the surrounding tables and chairs, all of them dark oak carved with crosses and writhing nude bodies. The bar was surrounded by “dungeon” rooms equipped with St. Andrews crosses, spanking benches, and other assorted gear designed for tying people up and doing painfully erotic things to them. The overall effect was a sense of sensual menace, rather as if Torquemada had decided to run a bordello between torturing alleged witches.
Adding to the atmosphere of sensuality, smoky jazz filled the air instead of the usual deafening rock du jour that made hearing a luxury at other clubs. Given Morgana’s sensitive Maja hearing, she approved, thou
gh the overall witch-torturing theme made her twitch. She’d come entirely too close to getting hanged by a fanatical priest once. It hadn’t been erotic at all.
Though if Percival had been doing the torturing . . . Stop that.
Involuntarily, her gaze flashed across the bar to the rear booth where her team sat. They were dressed in The Whip Hand’s idea of proper attire for dominants: expensive tooled-leather pants, boots, tight black T-shirts. Thanks to their enchanted scabbards, the long swords they wore diagonally across their backs were invisible. Guns would be of little use against the monster they were hunting.
Looking at them lounging around that table like a trio of lions on the veldt, Morgana felt a spurt of heat. She knew better, but she was still human—more or less. If a woman didn’t feel a tingle at the sight of Percival, Cador, and Marrok looking ready to break all Ten Commandments, she needed to check her pulse.
Someone who didn’t know them would probably register Marrok first. He looked the most menacing of the three, being six-five and brawny as a bull, with a broad, stubbled jaw, deep-set brown eyes, and a long Roman nose over a lazily sensual mouth. Despite the faint air of brutishness, in reality he was a laughing, genial soul who often played peacemaker between his hot-tempered and lethal teammates.
Which made what happened if you managed to truly anger him all the more shocking. On those rare occasions, his berserker rages could make even Arthur Pendragon step softly.
Then there was Cador. At six feet tall, he was shorter than the others, but that only made him look more muscular, with the sculpted brawn a man built when he spent hours a day swinging a long sword.
If that wasn’t enough to make a woman’s heart beat faster, Cador had shoulder-length hair, which, in combat, he wore tightly braided to his skull. That curling mane would have drawn the eye regardless, but the effect was intensified by its color, a rich, dark auburn.
His features were utterly perfect, as if God had calculated every angle for maximum impact on the female eye. Thick auburn brows dipped over laughing eyes the striking turquoise blue of the Caribbean. His nose was a perfectly straight and knife-blade narrow, while his wide, mobile mouth was prone toward deceptively charming smiles.
Wicked Games Page 30
