by Eden Bradley
He was so damn big—beautifully so. She wanted to take him in all at once, but she knew, even wet as she was, that it would take a moment for her body to open for a man of his size.
“Ah, that’s it, princess. So. Damn. Good. So tight. Fuck.” He pressed a little deeper. “I am gonna fuck you so good and hard,” he muttered, taking her face in one big hand and holding her tight. “I am gonna bury myself until my balls are pressed tight up against your lovely . . . hot . . . pussy.”
He was forcing her to look at him, and the intensity of his gaze on hers was almost shocking. Electric. She was shaking all over—with scorching pleasure at the first hint of him filling her, with the need to take as much of him in as she could. Shaking with sharp desire and a touch of fear at the restrained beast she saw behind his eyes. She wanted that animal to be let loose, unleashed on her body. She didn’t care if it hurt. She wanted it all. Wanted all of him.
In one punishing thrust he buried his cock to the hilt, driving the breath from her body. Driving pleasure deep. Then he bent to kiss her mouth, shifted to bite her shoulder, his teeth grinding into her skin. And she loved it all, the ownership of his actions. She refused to think about it—she wanted to be in the moment, in the pure pleasure of it as he slung his hips and began to fuck her.
It was a rough, relentless pounding, his teeth sinking deeper, his rigid flesh driving harder into her. And all she could do was hang on to his broad shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. He was hitting her G-spot, his pelvis crashing into hers, and the pressure built inside her until it was screaming to get out.
“Need to come . . .” she panted.
“No.” He buried a hand in the back of her hair and pulled. “No. Not yet.”
With his other hand he held her wrists above her head, bent and bit into the tender flesh on the underside of her arm. When she yelped, he growled, like a lion purring before devouring its prey. And she knew that was what she was at that moment. A part of her wanted to fight back—she loved that primal struggle—but she felt too taken over by him. Letting her hair go, he slid his hand under her buttocks, lifting her hips to meet his as his fingers dug in, pressing into the pressure points there.
“Ah!”
“Does it hurt, lovely?” he ground out, his Scottish accent so heavy she could barely make out the words. His hips slammed into her as pleasure and pain melded in her system. “I want it to. Need it to. Tell me you need it, Layla. Tell me.”
“Yes.” It came out on a sob—a sob of reluctant yielding and overwhelming sensation and the exquisite need to come. “Yes, I need it. I need you not to be careful with me.”
“I won’t be. I can guarantee you that.”
He started to buck harder into her, one stabbing thrust after another, faster and faster. Pleasure was a hammer, then a tight coil, then a fiery heat, the steam needing to be released.
“Duff, goddamn it! Let me come.”
“Too damn used to being the boss,” he muttered, his fingers digging deeper into the sore flesh of her ass.
“Fucking hell, Duff!”
“Oh, yeah,” he ground out, his voice low and guttural. “Beg me. Cuss me out. Let it out, princess. I love it.”
Lifting her hips, he knelt up over her, then pulled her up until she was straddling his thighs. And using his enormous strength, his hands on her hips, he raised her up, then slammed her down on his cock so hard it made her teeth rattle. But she loved it—needed the savage tempo of it. The beast was out, released from whatever cage he kept it in, and she wanted it all.
“Jesus. God. Fucking you, princess . . . fucking you so. Damn. Hard. Yeah!”
He threw his head back and the beast screamed, unleashed at last. Her body let loose, her orgasm a wild animal meeting his wild beast. She cried out, pleasure searing her, rising up like a fine white light inside her that exploded over and over, like fireworks and stars and a brilliant, blinding sun.
“Ahhhhhhhh!”
Falling on top of her, he kept plunging into her, and she was helpless against it. Helpless when he demanded, “Come again.”
Then, still inside her, he turned her onto her side before his hand went to her clit and circled the swollen flesh. His heavy cock was still half-hard, moving inside her. And as hard as she’d come, it was as if her body hadn’t had enough. Desire built so quickly, it shocked her. Her pussy began to clench, and he bit her shoulder, his teeth dragging over her skin.
“Oh, fuck!”
“You hold it back this time,” he ordered, his voice harsh, threatening. “You hold it until I tell you to come.”
She loved that, too—enough that she pulled in a breath and did as he said. She held it back even as he swept the teeth marks on her shoulder with his hot, sweet tongue, as he continued to fuck her, to circle her tight, throbbing clitoris. Her hips were bucking against his hand, against the still-solid shaft inside her. And she was dizzy with the effort it took not to let go.
“Duff,” she gasped.
“Not yet.”
“Please . . .”
“No, Layla.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Fuck.”
“Look at me,” he commanded.
He shifted her body until she was on her back once more, with him still inside her, and she opened her eyes—what else could she do? And his gaze was still full of intensity, the beast still lurking in the light and the shadows.
When he said, “Kiss me,” all she could do was tilt her chin and wait for his lips.
His mouth was so, so soft on hers—there was an odd romance to it, despite the rough sex, despite his stern orders. Emotion welled in her chest, but she swallowed it back, along with her climax. He moaned into her mouth and she groaned in answer. It seemed as if time had stopped, suspended in those timeless, keen-edged moments while she waited to be allowed to come.
“Now,” he murmured quietly against her lips.
That was all it took—one sharp stab of pleasure tore at her insides; then she was screaming his name, her body convulsing, the fireworks going off in her head once more. She felt torn apart by pleasure, by this man.
This man.
A tear fell from her eye and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Can’t do a thing.
A small sob escaped her and he crushed her in his arms, crushed her to his big, muscle-packed body.
“It’s all right, lovely. You did well. Yes. So good.” Stroking her hair, he held her even tighter. “So, so good. I know it was hard on you. You’re too used to being in charge. But now you know bone deep that with me, I am the one in charge. Always. Soon you won’t fight it anymore. And it’ll be even better.”
She tried to push him away, even though every cell in her body craved his touch, wanted to be enfolded in his arms. But her mind was like a siren, shrieking at her that she’d let this go too far. Her yielding. Her submission to this man on so many levels. She’d allowed herself to want this. To need this. And it all spelled danger in bright red capital letters.
He pulled her in closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, until she swore she could feel his heart beating against hers.
“Shh, Layla,” he murmured. “Don’t crash on me.”
“I’m not,” she protested, hating that her voice broke.
“No? What, then? Tell me.”
“It’s just . . . this!” Her throat tightened, the words wanting to choke her. “Fuck, Duff. I gave over too much. I can’t do that. I can’t. This is not good.”
He let her push back a few inches, until he could take her chin and tilt her face so she had to look at him. His dark brows were drawn, and for some reason she noticed every sharp line of his bone structure—his carved cheekbones, his sculpted jaw. He was too beautiful. But it did nothing to calm her mind, which felt as if it were going off in sixteen directions at once.
“Layla. You are cr
ashing. Look, I know this was a lot for you, but this is the only way it can be with me. I am thoroughly dominant, whether it’s sex or real kink, and there’s a very thin dividing line between the two for me. I’m a primal, and it seems you are, too, yes? The biting and scratching and rough sex. Taking you down. Yeah?”
She nodded, her throat still tight. “Yes.”
“Does it not feel natural to you?”
She nodded once more. “It did. It does.”
“I felt it from the start. Trust me, we wouldn’t be here otherwise. But something in you responds to that wild creature in me. Ah, I know he’s a rough one. I keep it under control—to an extent. There’s that dark part of me . . . I’ll never be able to dial it back entirely. I don’t want to. And once I start fucking, there’s only so much I can do aside from simply being who and what I am. Which is why negotiations are so important. I’m saying this so we know we understand one another.”
“I know.” She shoved her hair back from her heated cheeks. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything you shouldn’t have, or that I didn’t agree to. But, Duff, it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone—the few men I’ve slept with or the women I’ve played with—where I haven’t been the aggressor. Not since my last relationship.”
“Tell me about him.”
“What? Now?” She gave a small, helpless, spurting laugh. “You’re still inside me.”
He shrugged, a grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “Call it pillow talk.”
“Shouldn’t at least one of us have our head on a pillow?”
“Taken care of easily enough,” he said, leaning down to grab a throw pillow from the floor and shoving it under her head. Slipping out of her, he slipped the condom off, twisting the end of it and setting it on the floor before sliding an arm under her shoulders and settling in beside her.
She shook her head, but she was calming down between his straightforward manner and his good humor. That didn’t make it any easier to talk about him—the straw that broke the camel’s back. Fucking Jimmy. But she also knew Duff wouldn’t let her get away with making any excuses.
Pulling a long breath into her lungs, she took in the scents of sex and the sandalwood candles she kept all over her house and a touch of the soft New Orleans air. Exhaling slowly, she decided to simply start talking, rather than planning what she was going to say. It was too much to figure out, with her brain still fuzzy and her body still hypersensitized from the sex. And she knew how easily she could start overanalyzing.
“Jimmy and I broke up fifteen months ago. He was another damn cheater. He cheated on me with everything that walked. He’s a musician and he tours a lot, and I should have known better than to think I could date another musician and have him not cheat on me. Crazy, right? But he was a Dom, and claimed to be operating under the Safe, Sane and Consensual credo, and he had me fooled into thinking he was someone who took that seriously. But there was nothing safe or sane and certainly nothing consensual about him sleeping around. I heard rumors, but I didn’t want to believe it. Not again. Then one night . . .”
She had to stop for a moment, swallowing hard, and it hurt, but not the way it used to. Thank God. “One night I just sort of got it, finally, and I started searching, and I came up with a ridiculous ton of photos online. Girls who took pictures of him in their beds, for God’s sake. At a couple of dungeons. On his tour bus. In hot tubs. He had no shame. It was as if he wanted to be busted, and looking back I think he really did—or he simply liked to challenge himself with it, and maybe me. Testing me to see if I’d put up with it. And like an idiot, I hid my head in the sand for a while and I did put up with it. I had myself convinced that I believed all the crap he spouted about being a true, responsible Dominant. When I confronted him, he said I’d always known who he was, and all this shit about him being the boss, or had I forgotten that part?”
“Such bollocks,” Duff muttered. “‘Being the boss’ is not what a Dom/sub dynamic is about. That crap cheapens it. Bastard.”
When she glanced up she found his jaw clenched tight. And something in that moment in which she felt his protectiveness made her body relax the tiniest bit, made her feel as if he really did give a damn. As if he truly was different.
Maybe.
She blew out another long breath before continuing. “So, I took all his crap he’d left at my place while he was on the road and I dumped it out on the curb, and it was all gone a few days later—his clothes and his favorite boots and one of his guitars, and I don’t even know what else. Oh, he was pissed.” She had to smile a little at that.
“Good riddance. So, why not date another musician? Just because he was an asshole, surely that can’t condemn them all.”
“Oh, no—they’re all bad news. I’d been there before and it always ended the same way. They’ve all been cheaters, or they party too much, or think it’s cool to get speeding tickets they never pay. And it’s always about them—they have to be the star of the show. All the bad boys—musicians and guys with motorcycles, guys in leather jackets. All the men I’ve always been most attracted to. Bartenders are maybe the worst of the man-whores. I’d finally given up the bad boys after Jimmy—well, I’d kind of given up on men for the last year. Until you came along.”
“Ah, well, the damn, despicable bad boys. The musicians, and the ones who ride motorcycles.”
He was grinning outright now, and she sort of wanted to smack him, but he was right—he’d always be the one in charge. With her. In any situation, probably. And while she could sass him, this wasn’t the time.
“Duff? Can I ask you some things now?”
“I’m feeling generous,” he joked. “Why not?”
“What about you? Last relationship, I mean.”
“Ah.” She felt him tense for a moment, but then it melted away. “Jamie is the only person I’ve spoken to about this. My brother, Leith, and my friends back in Edinburgh knew her, but after it ended, I wasn’t up for having a discussion with anyone else.”
“What was her name?”
“Bess.”
• • •
HE COULD HARDLY believe he’d said her name out loud, never mind that he was going to tell Layla about her. But perhaps it was time he worked some of it out of his system. His very reluctance to talk about her told him he was still carrying the memory around like old baggage, and he didn’t like it.
“Yeah, Bess was her name. She was an English girl, come to Edinburgh for school. Then she stayed for work. Then she stayed for me, which was . . . a mistake.”
“A mistake? Why was it a mistake?”
He glanced down. Did he really want to answer the question? Sure as hell not. But he’d said she could ask.
It’s time.
“Duff?” she prompted.
He looked back at her. “Yeah. Well. We stayed together for two years, and it’s the longest run I’ve had with a girl, which maybe says something about me. And I was rough on her—I can see it now. I spent a lot of time working on my bikes, and everyone else’s, as well. I love my work, but I should have loved my woman more, right? Right.” He gave a sharp nod for emphasis. He’d never been able to really love her, and if he couldn’t fall in love with a good girl like Bess, then he was a hopeless case, wasn’t he?
After a moment, he went on. “She was a bit kinky—a little spanking, and she’d put up with me blindfolding her. ‘Bedroom’ kink. Not really enough for me, and I know she felt the pressure. And perhaps it wasn’t fair of me. No, I know it wasn’t. She was a good girl, and she deserved more. Sweet and even-tempered and probably more docile than was healthy for her in dealing with a man like me. But Lord knows that relationship was better than the one before her. Eileen was mad—totally out of her head. I loved her passion, and she was kinky as fuck, which is a better fit for me, but oi! She was trouble, that one. Jealous as hell. She caused scenes at the pubs, at the dungeon a few t
imes. Slashed the tires on my Harley when I broke off with her. Could have been worse. I was three years between the two of them, and you’d think I’d have learned more. Well.”
He stopped, cleared his throat. Why the hell had he just dumped all this on Layla? It was more than he’d meant to say.
“And vanilla relationships?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah—that never ends well. They’re not for me. I tried, with Bess, who was mostly vanilla, but I couldn’t dial it back much. Well, I did, but it was a strain. It was always an issue that I wasn’t getting what I wanted, and to be honest, neither was she. Kink wasn’t what she was about, but it’s too much a part of who I am to give it up.”
“I get that. It’s the same for me.”
“Is it, now?” He looked at her, into those lovely green eyes. His dick was getting hard again, despite the difficult conversation, which he was secretly rather proud of.
“Yes, absolutely. Vanilla relationships have been a disaster—almost as disastrous as the kink relationships. I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe it’s the ‘relationship’ part that doesn’t work for me.”
“Ah, me, as well.”
“Yes, but I’ve removed the sex part, too. Until now.”
“Now, that I can’t claim to have done.”
She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
His dick was still hard—too hard to ignore, with an armful of warm, fragrant, beautiful woman.
“Princess.”
“Yes?”
“How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted to hear you say?”
She laughed. “I’m sure it was. What am I agreeing to, exactly?”
“This.”
He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, then carried her through the French doors and into her bedroom, where he tossed her down on the bed, which was a mattress on the floor, swagged in what looked to be Indian saris. It suited her, this room. He quickly took in an old armoire with chipping white paint on one wall, two windows hung with more colorful saris. But what he liked most was the long mirrors on the doors of the armoire—he could see the bed reflected there. The bed and the incredibly gorgeous woman lying naked on it. Waiting for him.
