Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  “Yes sir. I'd let you bind me.”

  “Why?” he asks, switching feet. “Because I make you want to?”

  I moan as he finds a spot on my left foot that feels like he's literally rubbing my pussy at the same time. “Yes sir . . . and because you don't make me feel bad about it.”

  “And I never will,” Rafe says, releasing my left foot to work on both of my calves at the same time. “I want there to be total trust between us.”

  His words touch something deep inside me, and I open my eyes, looking back at him as he works up to my hamstrings, his eyes intense and protective, tender. “Rafe?”

  “Yes, Shawnie?” he asks, not stopping his massage as it creeps slowly higher and higher toward my ass.

  “I hope this isn’t the only reason you brought me here.” I give him a seductive look, letting him know what I want. “Please, sir?” I ask, a deep thrill running up my spine. “If you want to . . .”

  “Let's start with a massage,” Rafe says, taking my ass in both hands and massaging. I hear the oil bottle open again, and I giggle, the giggle turning into a moan as the warm oil dribbles over my ass and down the crack to my aching pussy. “And what about your pussy?”

  “A vibrator maybe?” I ask, and Rafe gets off the bed, returning with a small one that he puts in my hand.

  I feel him grip my ass, squeezing it as he bends down to kiss the right cheek, then the left. It’s hot, tender, and exciting as he kisses, his tongue coming out and making a smooth stroke down my left cheek.

  Rafe adjusts himself, and I feel his fingers massage my ring, working some of the massage oil inside me as he prepares himself. The blunt tip of his cockhead presses against me, and I close my eyes as he slips inside.

  Feeling Rafe's thick cock slide inside my tender hole is mind blowing. Slow, careful strokes light up my body as Rafe works his cock all the way inside me. It feels so right, my pussy drips down my inner thighs. Finally, I can feel his hips press against me, and I look back at him. I can't help but smile a little as I realize he never took off his pants. He's wearing his suit pants and tie still, with his huge cock buried deep inside me. “I don't think I've had this before. Armani sex?”

  “Custom tailored,” Rafe says in reply, sinking his cock deep into me and washing away all words from my brain. I lower my head, reaching out and grabbing the headboard of the bed and pushing back as he begins pumping his meaty cock in and out of my ass. It's raw, it's animalistic and sensual, and I realize that the real me does want to submit to him, to be taken like this by him because it makes me feel good.

  With each slow, tender stroke, Rafe's cock moves from my ass all the way to my brain, straight up my spine and sending me into a world that I've never felt before. I'm filled, full and taken by this man who might call himself a monster, but the only monster I feel is the demon inside me screaming that it’s being beaten into obscurity. “Mmm, take me, sir.”

  His cock speeds up and a little bit of pain adds to the pleasure, letting me know that this is a man unlike any man I've had before, taking me and making me his. I push back, swept away in the pleasure and pain that is ripping through my body. I'm so close to coming and I haven't even touched my pussy.

  “Shawnie!” Rafe groans, and I feel his cock swell, making my eyes roll back in my head it's so intense. He slams into me one more time and explodes, his cock deep in my ass, so hot and hard it's making me come. It's so overwhelming I have to literally bite the pillow in front of my face to keep from passing out.

  Rafe reaches out, taking my hand that's reaching back blindly and clasping it, holding me carefully as he pulls out and I turn over, my legs too Jell-O to even hold me up kneeling any longer. He looks at me with warm blue eyes, his face intense.

  “Are you okay?” he asks in a raspy voice, and I nod, smiling.

  “Better than I’ve been in a long time,” I sigh happily. I look down at his still glistening cock, and I smile, biting my lip. “How about you go wash that bad boy off and get ready for round two? We've got this room for how much longer?”

  “As long as I want,” Rafe says, climbing off the bed. He goes over to a small wash station and thoroughly washes his cock and balls, both for safety and to get rid of all the extra oil before he strips out of the rest of his tuxedo, coming back to the bed in his perfect, sculpted natural form. “How long do you want to stay here?”

  I reach up, stroking his face and pulling him down for a kiss. “Until I'm fully satisfied. I may have been here before, but this is a new experience for me. It could be a while.”

  “A challenge?” Rafe asks, grinning. “I like a challenge.”

  Chapter 17

  The Counselor

  You look like a very satisfied woman. And a confused one too.

  You have no idea.

  Want to tell me about it?

  Rafe took me to The Club Friday night, all the way to Saturday morning. And then he took me to his home for the rest of the weekend and I was . . . it was pure heaven.

  The Club? I didn't know he was a member.

  Neither did I. But there's a lot to Rafe Meyers that you wouldn't believe.

  Try me.

  No, I don't think so. He confided in me, and I don't want to violate the trust that he's placed in me.

  Fair enough. Why do you think he took you there and not just to his bed?

  I’ve thought about it. Rafe is calculating, and everything he does is for a reason. I’d like to think that he wanted to bring something good into a place that’s been slowly destroying me because of what I do there. Because of how I feel afterward.

  Okay, but you still look a little haunted. What's the problem?

  I don’t know if it’s going to be that easy. Sure, this weekend was probably the best of my life, but in the quiet moments, I’ve had doubts. Rafe couldn't exactly be by my side all weekend, and even his superhuman endurance has limits. We couldn't have sex the whole time.

  What were you thinking?

  Mostly the demon, this other person I’ve become after what happened to me. It’s trying to throw sand in the gears. It's telling me that I'm deluding myself if I really think that Rafe's different, that sex with him is different. It kept telling me that Rafe is just setting me up, that he's bringing me up higher so that he can just crush me all the harder later.

  That doesn’t sound too likely.

  I know. And the logical part of me wants to believe that, that he's being good to me, that we're . . . I don't know. Developing something . . . something real?

  Are you feeling that way?

  I'd like it. He’s one of a kind, and to think that he's still interested in me . . . it touches me in a way that I never thought I’d feel again.

  But you’re scared of giving in completely? Scared of what might happen if it doesn’t work out?

  Exactly. What if I'm starting to really like a guy, starting to feel clean, but it turns out badly? My life before you may have not approved of, but it was something. If I continue on this path and he lets me down . . .

  Whoa, it's okay. Here, have a tissue.

  What if it’s not meant to be? What if I’ll always be damaged, incapable of finding real love?

  I don't think you are. I’ve told you many times that I think you sell yourself short. But let's turn to something else before our time is up. How's the project work going?

  It's good, but not all fun times. You should have seen the argument we had in the lab Thursday. Oh, if anyone ever thinks that being in a clandestine sexual relationship with Rafe Meyers means that he's going to back off on pushing me, on challenging me . . . that man is the most stubborn, hard-headed pain in the ass sometimes! I mean, I took a whole week to work on the problem of those fuel pumps . . .

  Whoa. No details. National security, remember?

  Sorry, got carried away.

  Just remember that you’ve always taken pride in your work.

  Yeah, I guess so. Still . . .

  What?

  Engineering hasn't stopped me i
n the past, and as much as I'm trying . . . it's not airfoil designs and airplanes that I'm thinking of when I wake up at two in the morning and can't get back to sleep.

  I don't need to guess what you're thinking of.

  Exactly. Airplane design doesn't help at two in the morning.

  Chapter 18

  Rafe

  Nearly a week after we went to The Club, I'm worried more than ever. The possessive side, the Program side, is happy because for the whole weekend, Shawnie was mine. We had sex constantly, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle, but every room of my house short of my play room was 'broken in'. The play room will come, but not until she’s ready.

  Still, watching Shawnie during the weekend, when we were together, she was making so much progress, and then she'd fall back into a brooding expression and I knew what was going through her mind.

  Even more problematic to me is the work she's doing in the lab. For the past three days she's been lethargic and distracted instead of her normal self. I’m starting to think that my idea of taking her to The Club may have not been the best thing for her yet.

  Finally, the email I got from The Club that my membership has been suspended is the last straw, and tonight, I find myself driving toward San Francisco on a Thursday, even though three people are still in the lab. Between what Shawnie told me about the message Mr. Robinson sent, the way he was almost ready to hit her last Friday night, and then this email, there are things that I need to get straightened out between myself and Mr. Robinson.

  I don't use the valet to park, but instead park two blocks away at an office building and start walking, knowing that what I'm about to do is pretty fucking stupid. There's a reason the security men at The Club can flat out shoot someone and get away with it . . . but some things are more important.

  The doorman at least lets me in when I give him my member name, but he stops me in the foyer. “Mr. Museveni, the computer says that your membership is under suspension.”

  “I'm here on business,” I explain, measuring the burly man with my eyes. If I have to take him down, I'm going to have to do it fast. I know that the security cameras are watching me already. “I'm here to talk to Mr. Robinson.”

  The doorman starts to refuse me, but a side door opens, not the one to the main club, and Mr. Robinson steps out. He’s dressed, as always, in his sharp-looking business suit, attempting to look like a suave man in charge. “It's okay, Rocco. He can come with me to my office.”

  The doorman nods, putting himself between me and the entrance to The Club itself, and Mr. Robinson turns, leading me down a narrow side hallway that I can tell rings the lower floor of The Club until we come to a stairwell. “My office is normally upstairs, a leftover of the old days when this was a shipping warehouse.”

  “Lead on,” I reply, following him up the stairs to his ornate office. It surprises me a little. I always pegged him for being more of the sparse, ultramodern office type, not a stained walnut desk and Tiffany lamps with Turkish rug type. “The Club must pay well.”

  “Of course it does,” he says, going over to a wet bar and opening a decanter of what looks like whiskey or scotch. “Glenlivet?”

  “Not tonight,” I reply, not sitting down as he pours himself a glass. “I came to talk about Shawnie Holliday.”

  “Great fuck, isn't she?” Robinson says with a grin, tossing back a finger of whiskey. “She’s good for this place.”

  I don’t know if he’s intentionally baiting me or not, but it’s damn near working. Instead of raising my voice, I put my hands on the back of the leather chair in front of me and squeeze, feeling the wood underneath groan from the force.

  “I want to know what led to the suspension of my membership and if it had anything to do with bringing her here,” I reply, trying to keep my temper. He's a smooth operator, used to being in control. I won’t let him this time.

  “Your membership was suspended because you pissed me off, getting in my face like you did on Friday,” Robinson says simply, setting his tumbler down. “I have to maintain a certain image around here to keep things running as they should be.”

  “You looked like you were about to hit Shawnie,” I reply evenly. “What did you expect me to do?”

  “Sure, I was starting to lose my cool a little, but hitting her wouldn’t be good for my image either. As it was, she turned down a lucrative business invitation from me, apparently because she had ‘lab work’ to do. Considering that she brought you here not long after, I can guess what sort of lab work it was.”

  “Fuck you,” I growl, stepping a step closer, my control slipping just a little. I hate it. Robinson shakes his head, reaching for his jacket, and I pause . . . it isn't the time yet. He's still too far away for me to make a move if it comes to that. “My work has nothing to do with this place.”

  “Right. And I just happen to know a lot about what makes the Travis Air Force Base’s commanding general's dick stiff too,” Robinson says with a sneer. “Face it, you're a smart enough man. You should know that I have powerful friends who will protect me if I need. I’m not someone to be fucked with.”

  “If you mean you've got the dirt on the powerful people around here, that’s not news,” I say, shrugging. “Doesn't impress me much. You're just a glorified blackmailer. You've got your secrets. We all do. I just can’t figure out why you care so much about Shawnie. Or is your ego seriously so fucking big that you’re pissed off to actually be told no?”

  “One of my . . . associates . . . wants a sugar baby. He's seen Shawnie here before and was taken with her. I wasn't even going to take a cut. It was for Shawnie. This wasn't about a fee or money on the side.”

  “Bullshit,” I shoot back, knowing he’s full of it. “If it’s not about money, this guy must be someone you’d love to have owe you one. Don’t pretend it’s for her. I’ve talked to you just for a few minutes, and I already know you’d never do something for another human being. You’re trying to use her, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “Like you can do shit about it?” Robinson says, stepping a little closer and laughing. “Face it, 'Mr. Museveni'. I can pretty much do whatever the fuck I want around here. I’m tired of just being the god of a den of perverts though. I keep my head down usually, but our little Georgia peach is going to prove useful. Now she’s too good for this place. Because of you. You know . . . Professor—”

  I cut him off. “Congrats, you can run a background check. But if those background checks were half as good as you think they are, you wouldn’t be acting all cocky right now,” I hiss. “You think you’re not to be fucked with? I’m the template of not to be fucked with.”

  He unbuttons his jacket, putting his hand on the butt of his gun, but he’s being too calm about it. He thinks I’m just some Joe Schmo. “She cost me a big opportunity. She made me look like a damn fool, and now I’m looking bad to some people who actually matter. I have a feeling you’re to thank for her sudden change in behavior.”

  “I’m only going to say this once,” I threaten, raising my voice. “Shawnie Holliday's done with The Club. She's done with you.”

  “I don't think so. I promised my associate that he’d get what he wants. If I don’t deliver, well, it wouldn’t be good for me,” Robinson says, starting to pull his gun, but before he can even get it halfway out of the holster, I close the distance and chop his wrist, numbing his fingers and sending the gun tumbling to the floor where I quickly kick it under the desk. He’s fast still, and he pushes me back, a grin on his face. “Come on, bitch.”

  I catch his first punch and pivot, flipping him over my hip to land on his desk, crushing the teak pencil cup that's on the corner as he lands on it. Robinson yanks his arm free, though, and pulls out of my grip, going over the desk to land on his feet but off-balance. “You're a dead man, Meyers.”

  “That might be harder than you think,” I say, launching myself over the desk. He tries to meet me with an elbow, but I block it even as I throw my own, nailing him in the jaw and knocking him
to the ground. I climb on top of him, hammering him with five unanswered blows until his face is a bloody mess and he's on the verge of passing out.

  “St–stop . . .” Robinson mumbles through bloody lips, but instead, I grab him by the tie and pull his head up off the office floor.

  “You want to take advantage of a screwed up girl like Shawnie?” I rasp, twisting his tie a little tighter and starting to choke him. “Fuck with her head? How about I teach you what she's been through, put you out there on the floor? I bet we can find a dominatrix who’d be happy to shove a strap-on up your ass. Prep you for being someone’s prison bitch.”

  “No . . . please,” he starts to beg even as his face turns bright pink. He tries to claw at my hand, but I'm far too strong for him to break my grip. “Please . . .”

  “You come near me or Shawnie Holliday again, and The Club's going to be looking for a new manager. This is your one and only warning, you got me?” I ask, and Robinson nods weakly, his eyes starting to swim from the loss of oxygen to his brain. “Good.”

  I punch him in the nose one last time for good measure. His head rockets back, thumping hard off the rug, adding just a little bit extra to the knockout.

  I climb off him, looking under the desk for his pistol, finding it under his chair and breaking it down quickly, yanking the firing pin before putting the pieces on his blotter. I've got enough problems. I don't need to try and walk out of here with a gun under my shirt.

  Leaving the office, I hurry down the stairs and back around, keeping my eyes open for anyone or some sort of back entrance. The Club's paid up with the fire inspectors though. There's nothing as I come back around to the main door and decide I have to take my chances.

  I open the door, and the doorman looks out, surprised. “Where's Mr. Robinson?”