Come and Get Me

by Reese Gabriel

  She fumed at seeing him still standing out there on the balcony in his boxers, casually enjoying the sunrise. Was she some kind of slave who was supposed to be constantly available for his use?

  “You’d better hurry up,” she called out to him. “I intend to be on the beach sunning myself in an hour.”

  Come to think of it, what in hell was she to do for clothing on this blasted island? Scratch the sunbathing. It was serious shopping time.

  “You’re gonna have to take me to some stores first. You do know that?”

  “I’ll decide what you wear, Eleesha. If anything.”

  She wanted to throw the lamp, but she settled on a pillow. “You won’t get away with this.”

  A knock on the door stopped the brewing row. For the moment.

  Ross padded across the floor, utterly indifferent to his disheveled, singularly displeased roommate.

  “You’re not going to let someone in? At least let me hide in the bathroom.”

  He was letting someone in, straight into the bedroom.

  “Thanks, Maurice, set everything there, would you?”

  Eleesha covered up with the sheet and blanket, making herself as invisible as possible. Was there no end to this man’s gall?

  They carried on an animated conversation for what felt like an hour. At last Ross sounded the all clear.

  “You enjoyed that,” she accused, poking her head out from the rumpled sheets.

  He was grinning ear to ear. She hated how roguishly charming it made him look, not to mention scrumptious.

  “Me? Perish the thought.”

  Eleesha’s attention diverted to the packages on the elegant armchairs in the corner. “What are those?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Your wardrobe.”

  He proceeded to present her with the various items. Swimsuits, bikinis in lavender and yellow, sarongs in lovely silk prints, an assortment of shoes—from evening wear to sandals—as well as walking shorts, tops and a straw hat.

  “What about that?” She pointed to the garment bag on the clothing rack.

  “Ah, yes,” he nodded. “The pièce de résistance.”

  Unzipping the long bag, he revealed a silver dress—backless, with spaghetti straps. The sequins dazzled in the morning light. It was quite simply the loveliest garment Eleesha had ever seen. Stunned, she asked. “But how did you know my size?”

  “You have Martha to blame for that. She gave away all your secrets.”

  Eleesha blinked, moist-eyed. “No one’s ever bought me anything like this, Ross.”

  “It’s for tonight. We’re going dancing. The hotel has a big celebration in conjunction with one of the island festivals. I have a tux on the way.”

  She shook her head. “You are making it awfully hard to keep hating you.”

  “I’m working on it,” he nodded somberly. “Would it help if I rudely ordered you onto all fours and told you to face the headboard for a good hard fuck?”

  She suppressed a smile. “It might.”

  “Consider it done, Spitfire.”

  She felt the mischief rising. “And if I refuse?”

  “In that case…” he rummaged through another bag on the floor, one she’d missed. “We have these.”

  Ross was dangling handcuffs—silver with fuzzy pink lining—from one hand. In the other he held a black riding crop.

  Her heart was thumping like a rabbit’s. Her skin burned already, half fearing, half craving the new sensations. Steel to hold her wrists. And a whip. To punish her as she’d never been punished before.

  “Now that’s more like it,” she offered dryly. “For a minute I thought the real Ross Maclean had been exchanged for some nice, polite sap. The sort who fawns over women.”

  “Not a chance.” He slashed the whip through the air. “So are you going to cooperate or not?”

  “I guess I haven’t a choice.”

  “Sure you do. Pain or pleasure.”

  Eleesha presented her ass, just as Ross wanted. She was completely vulnerable, open to whatever he might deliver to her nude body. The fact that she could no longer see him behind her only heightened the anxiety. This bed was so damn big, too. So far he’d made excellent use of it, rolling her about, pinning her and prodding and poking her every which way.

  But she had a feeling it was going to be different this morning. They were going to penetrate a new layer of their relationship.

  She jolted as his hand touched her, light as air.

  “Easy, Spitfire…”

  His words made her sigh. She loved the nickname. Loving it all, in spite of how exasperating and unfair he could be.

  “Do you remember? Our night together? I asked you about that fantasy of yours? Being my love slave? You said that it wasn’t true? The girls made it up, to embarrass you?”

  She braced herself for the inevitable.

  “You were lying to me, weren’t you?”

  His fingers slipped inside her, taking immediate control. She would not hold out long this time. Why had it been so much easier to conceal things from one another when they were younger?

  “Yes,” whispered Eleesha.

  “You dreamed of being my slave.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you dream?”

  Her body tensed in anticipation, her nerve endings sharp with desire. It was coming. The moment of reckoning.

  “Serving…” she began, no longer able to form full sentences. “Obeying…naked…being…whipped.”

  “I know, Eleesha. That’s why I bought the crop.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, Ross, we can’t go there…”

  It was a plea, not a statement. One he opted to refuse. “Head down,” he caressed the back of her neck, “buttocks in the air.”

  She had no strength to obey, or to resist. Using both hands, he put her body in the position he desired. She was panting already, her pussy clenching and unclenching, feverishly anticipating.

  “I’m…scared.”

  But why, and of what? she asked herself. This wasn’t just about the pain, not just about the momentary exchange they would have. There was more, something deeper.

  He soothed her with a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be here… Your Master will be here.”

  “Yes,” she shivered, as though he were inside her, even now. “Master.”

  Ross read her need, the implications. “Come. Now,” he commanded, giving her a single finger to work against.

  She shifted, shamelessly rubbing. Eleesha reveled in it, feeling delicious.

  “I’m going to take you anally,” he told her once she’d subsided. “I wanted that…long ago, but I was afraid. I wanted this, too.”

  “This” was the whip, caressing her now instead of his hand.

  She gave in to a heavy sigh, and to the confession that went along with it. “I masturbated while thinking of you, Ross…so many times…you don’t know.”

  “Before we made love? Or after?”

  “Both…all the time…in every position…”

  “I’ve never made love to another woman that I didn’t see you, Eleesha.” Ross reared back, cracking the whip against her posterior. She cried out from the heated sting—deep, erotic—surging through her body.

  I’m being whipped, she thought, by my lover.

  “You may thank me, slave.” He tapped the affected area. She felt the rising welt.

  “Thank you…Master.”

  He struck her again. “You look good this way. Twitching. Sweating.”

  Eleesha grimaced. God help her, she wanted another. “Thank you, Master.”

  “I will have to be careful. So you can still wear one of those nice little bikinis for me, later.” Ross whipped her again, a crisp, precise blow.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she asked as it occurred to her that he seemed awfully proficient.

  “Once or twice,” he acknowledged. “It’s a hobby…one of many.”

  The fire was continuous now, throughout her ass. It was more i
ntense than the spanking. But more exciting, too.

  “Are you ready to be used, slave girl?”

  She shivered, remembering what he’d promised lay ahead. “Yes, Master.”

  Eleesha was an anal virgin.

  “Ross…Master?”

  “I know, Spitfire, I figured as much,” he’d read her mind. “We’ll go slowly.”

  He had lubricant. Yet another surprise from the bottom of that special bag. He squirted some into her opening than massaged it with his finger.

  “I did this the first time with a prostitute when I was eighteen. A birthday present from my coach. He bought me the works—the man was like a father to me. It was good, but it was just sex. It was always that way, ‘til I met you.”

  She gasped as he slipped a second finger inside, opening her.

  “Relax, Spitfire…this is supposed to be fun.”

  “Easy…for you to say,” she managed.

  He slapped her ass. “Stop mouthing off,” he teased. “You naughty slave.”

  A moment later the finger was replaced with a thicker object—his cock. She felt a rise of panic. She’d never be able to take him inside her, not like this. He’d said to always trust, but she needed more.

  “Master…Ross…what more was it…with me?”

  He chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  She needed to hear it, though. That would make all the difference in the world.

  “But, I don’t know.”

  Too late. He was clamping her waist, exercising testosterone-driven power, closing down the higher avenues of discussion.

  “We’ll go slowly,” he reiterated. “But I’m not compromising. You’ll give me everything I want. You’ll take everything. Every inch. Is that clear, slave?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I’m your first, Eleesha, and I’ll be your last. No one else,” he vowed, “here…or here.”

  He snaked a finger into her pussy, making her writhe. Ross took advantage of the opportunity to impale her another inch.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  “Don’t fight it.”

  She felt so full. Like being fucked, but different, too. Heavier somehow—deeper and more wickedly primal.

  “I’m glad we waited for this,” he said. “It means so much more now.”

  Her first…and her only.

  Ross gave her another inch, and then another.

  Settling himself into his conquered domain, Ross said, “It’s time for the fucking.”

  Eleesha tensed. She’d nearly forgotten there was more. That having Ross’ cock stuffed up her anus was just the beginning. Now would come the movement. The pleasure.

  Maybe part of what made this arousing was that, as a female, she felt truly used like this. Her ass was not her pleasure center—it was his. The best she could do was to submit sufficiently, opening her body so as to minimize the pain of the invasion. And yet there was a pleasure in this, too, an abiding sense of peace that came from knowing she was pleasing her man. There was also the perverse enjoyment that seemed to come along with the submission. It was this last element that had fueled her fantasies all these years. Beginning and ending with Ross.

  Ross grunted as he began to move. It was slow as promised, though there was no mistaking his power. If he wished, he could take anything and everything from her. To put herself in this position…at his mercy, she knew of no greater sign of love and trust.

  “Oh, Ross,” she groaned, heady from the erotic pressure. “I’m so fucking yours, it’s not even funny.”

  “Then show me,” he taunted. “Even the prostitute took me deeper, and she didn’t care one whit for me.”

  The remark stung. He’d done something similar to her last night. What was it that put him off? Was it when she overwhelmed him with emotion? When she got out there too far in front of his carefully arranged script—or in his case, playbook?

  Maybe he needed to be thrown off track even more.

  “I love you, Ross Maclean.”

  It was a devious attack, indeed. The one thing he could not defend against. Not without opening his own heart.

  “That’s Master Maclean.” He fucked her harder, faster, in retaliation.

  “I love you, whatever your name is,” she defied. “Whether you like it or not.”

  “That’ll be enough, woman. It’s time to receive me.”

  Her bare toes curled. “Come in my fucking ass. Yes…fill me with your hot come.”

  “Please, Master,” he corrected, glorying in his resumed authority.

  “Please, shoot it in my ass, Master. Mark me. Mark your territory.”

  He was pistoning furiously into her, slamming hard and long. At a certain point she fell forward onto her belly. His body followed her down. With one hand beside her, holding himself steady, and the other pressing into her back, he finished himself off. Eleesha lay underneath him, undulating as he pumped himself dry, jetting his warm semen into her tight, oiled channel.

  She felt it all at once. The heat of the whipping, the closeness of his skin, and her own ongoing sexual excitement. Could a person climax in the whole of their body? Could they relish a moment to the point of a sort of spiritual orgasm?

  Ross nibbled at her neck, recovering himself. He must have sensed her strange state, because he asked, “Are you all right?”

  She had but one response. Two words, clear as a bell. “Hold me.”

  He turned her to her side, wrapped her in his arms, and enveloped her in his powerful embrace.

  “Always,” he whispered, nose to nose. “My Spitfire.”

  She fell asleep again, this time with a definite smile on her face.

  * * * * *

  Eleesha examined herself in the mirror. She highly doubted that she had the looks or the figure to pull off wearing this dress. It was the sort of thing you put on a runway model or an actress heading down the red carpet to receive some award. Ross must have spent a fortune on it. And the silver shoes, with the darling little clasps were a picture-perfect match. If only she were someone more deserving.

  Her hair. Whatever would she do with it? An afternoon sunning and sailing had turned her hair into a riot of curls. Exposure to the sea always had that effect on it. Ross had told her not to fret, that it would look fine no matter what, but he was a man, and as such, his opinions were limited in this area. He was also a bit prejudiced when it came to her. Eleesha didn’t usually mind that, but she didn’t want to be humored either.

  Maybe she should wear it up. Experimenting with some twists, she replayed the lovely events in her mind. How wonderfully the day had gone. How comfortable she’d felt in his presence. He was such an interesting man, full of fascinating opinions she would never have expected. And she’d never realized all that he’d had to overcome in childhood, either. In a way they had both suffered parental loss and been forced to grow up at an early age. Ross wasn’t the type to use his life as an excuse, though. She liked that. He took responsibility for things, good and bad.

  She was surprised at the extent to which he was interested in her business ideas, her plans for improving the company if ever she were to assume the reins of power. He was a natural businessman, though she knew his heart still lay in the game of football. She had an idea in this regard, one she was planning to pursue in secret.

  The swept-up hair didn’t work. She let it all down, a tumbled mess, utterly hopeless. Honestly, she could have just cried. She really hated being female sometimes. Men never had these problems.

  “Spitfire? Where are you?”

  It was Ross, looking for her. She sucked in her lower lip. She’d been stalling him for half an hour, having him wait downstairs in the bar.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” she called out from behind the locked door.

  “What in blazes are you still doing in there, woman? How many free cocktail weenies do you expect me to consume?”

  She sucked in her lower lip. “I need more time, Ross.”

  Naturally, he looked pe
rfect. Straight out of the gate, ten minutes to put on his tuxedo and comb his hair. It made her sick.

  “More time? For what? You’re already ten times more beautiful than any woman in the hotel.”

  She flushed pink—she wondered if she’d ever get tired of hearing words like that. “You’re biased, Ross, because you…like me very much.”

  She’d almost slipped and used the dreaded “L” word, the one he’d been avoiding like the plague.

  He must have caught on. “If I say I love you, will you come out of there?”

  “Not if you don’t mean it.”

  “I never say what I don’t mean. I love you. Satisfied?”

  She snorted. “Hardly.”

  He cleared his throat. “Eleesha Marie Greene. I love you. Will you please come out of the bathroom?”

  “I can’t,” she sniffed. “Because…because I…look horrible.”

  Ross sighed. “Eleesha, please open the door.”

  He sounded just so entirely patient, loving and supportive, and much as she hated to disappoint him with how poorly she filled out the dress, she needed him nonetheless—his shoulder to cry on, his arms around her. Sobbing, she released the lock.

  She buried her head against his chest, letting it all out. So much pent up inside. “I just…don’t…want…it to be…a dream,” she cried, the words coming in short, tearful stabs.

  He caressed the back of her head. “Spitfire, what are you talking about?”

  He sounded so gentle, so loving that she couldn’t help but open up to him. “I don’t want you to leave me again…for the prettier girls, like last time.”

  “Prettier girls?” He sounded shocked. “Baby, there aren’t any prettier than you—I told you, it was me. I was scared. You were just so…perfect. You had everything going for you, and you cared about me for me. I couldn’t handle that. I was sure I didn’t deserve it, that I’d only fuck it up like my father had fucked up his life, so I didn’t even try. Now I see that the only way to fail is not to try at all. I was never worthy of you, Eleesha, but I am trying. This is my fourth and long, Spitfire. It’s a miracle throw, but it’s one last shot. At you. At happiness. You’re a princess, Spitfire, you’re class all the way. I could never do better.”