Convincing Rowena [Passion Peak, Colorado 6] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Tara Rose

  He retrieved the rose flogger she’d bought, and brushed the falls against her back and ass. “This is exquisite.”

  “I thought so, too, Sir.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Van sent up a silent prayer as he swung his arm back.

  * * * *

  Rowena yelped when the leather roses and their stems landed across both ass cheeks. Van waited a second or two, and then he threw it again. Alexa had been right. The sensation was a thudding one at first, but then the bite of the roses kicked in. It was easy to imagined that if a Dom timed the throws just right, neither sensation would have the chance to abate, so the pain would be continuous.

  Van threw it five times then stopped. “What color are you?”

  “Green, Sir.”

  “All right.” He resumed, and Rowena closed her eyes and mentally let go. She slipped into a state where the pain became pleasure and the pleasure became pain. It was as if she were floating overhead, looking down on the scene. Every nerve ending was on fire. Each time the falls and roses at the ends struck her, she moaned or cried out, but her voice sounded dim as if she were in a wind tunnel.

  Her pussy contracted in tiny spasms, and she brushed her nipples against the pillows under her chest because she ached to have them touched. She tried to push her clit against the back of the sofa but the angle was wrong. If Van touched it right now, she knew she’d come.

  The pain was just beginning to break through the fog when he stopped. Her cuffs were off, and she stood upright. Van held her, whispering how proud he was of her, and how fucking beautiful she was.

  “I’m all right.”

  He cupped her face. “I know. I know. You took a lot. But I stopped because your ass is really red right now.”

  She giggled, and then couldn’t seem to stop. Every happy thought she’d ever had came bubbling up inside, and she wanted to scream, cry, run, and jump, all at the same time. Van pulled her close again and stroked her hair and back. When he brushed his fingers over her ass, she winced. “How many times did you flog me with that thing?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He looked into her eyes again. “Thirty.”

  “Wow. I’m a pro now.”

  Van began to laugh, and then Rowena did again as well. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, moving her close to the headboard. “Don’t move.” She watched him retrieve the wrist cuffs, and she put her arms overhead without him telling her to. He fastened the cuffs to the headboard, and then he retrieved the pillows from the sofa and placed them under her hips. She thought he was going to fuck her, but he lay between her legs and licked her pussy and asshole, teasing her clit with his tongue on each pass.

  Rowena cried out and screamed as the craziest orgasm she’d ever had rocked her body with endless contractions. Even when it stopped, Van didn’t. He just kept sucking her and licking her until another began to build. Her mouth was dry, sweat pooled at her hairline and under her breasts, and her clit was sore, but she didn’t want it to end.

  When he finally stopped, he moved to her breasts and teased her nipples with his teeth and tongue until she thought she’d go out of her mind with need. “Fuck me. Please.”

  “No. You didn’t call me ‘Sir.’”

  Rowena cried out in frustration. “Fuck me, Sir. Please, Sir. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard.”

  Van glanced up at her, grinning. “That’s better.” He unfastened her wrist cuffs and turned her onto her stomach, keeping her hips draped over the pillows so that her ass was in the air, and then he secured the cuffs behind her back and clipped them together. She felt him move off the bed, but couldn’t turn her head around to see what he was doing. When he sat on it again, she heard a liquid sound.

  “I thought we’d try some of that lube you bought. You did say it would make things tighter.”

  “Oh God…”

  “Was that a safeword?”

  “No, Sir.”

  A warm, wet finger slid slowly into her asshole, and Rowena moaned at the sensation of fullness. He moved it in and out for a few minutes, and then withdrew it and slipped in two fingers. With his other hand he cupped her pussy, and soon she was writhing against the pillows, craving release once again.

  She felt his weight shift, and then he slid his dick into her pussy. He fucked her slowly at first, keeping one hand underneath and two fingers from his other hand inside her asshole, fucking that as well. She screamed and begged him to go faster, but he didn’t right away. When she didn’t think she could take anymore, he finally increased the speed.

  “I’m going to fuck you all day.”

  Rowena couldn’t even answer him. All she could do was give in and enjoy it. This was the most exquisite fucking they’d ever done. The lube was tingly inside her ass, but not unpleasant at all. Van’s cock felt huge, and each pass sent contractions to her clit and nipples. She couldn’t move anything except her head, but there was no fear this time. There was only extreme pleasure like she’d never felt, and an overwhelming desire to give over to it and let him take her, again and again.

  Her next climax wasn’t as intense as the previous one, but it lasted for what felt like hours. It never really crested, even when he pulled his fingers out of her ass, and withdrew his dick from her pussy. He held a bottle of water to her lips and she drank, spilling some onto the comforter but not caring.

  She heard him put on a condom, and then more lube filled her asshole. When he slid his cock inside, she moaned continuously as the fullness sent wave after wave of desire crashing through her body. He slipped one hand underneath again, and rubbed her clit until a third orgasm began to build. Rowena tossed her head back and forth. She was out of her mind with the need to come, but at the same time everything was so overwhelming that tears splashed over her lids.

  “What color are you, sweetheart?”

  “Green, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Good girl.” Van didn’t let up his thrusting, and when her third orgasm let go, all she could do was moan and let it wash over her. He came inside her ass, and then he pulled out, took off his condom, and unfastened her wrist cuffs. He gently pulled her onto her side and held her, stroking her hair and back. She was soaked and so was he, but she held onto him and pulled him closer, never wanting to leave this bed.

  “You did it,” he whispered. “I am so fucking proud of you right now.”

  “I did. I can’t believe it.”

  “I can. You’re strong. Stronger than you know.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He kissed her hair gently. “No, thank you. For trusting me. For giving us another chance.”

  Rowena sighed softly and snuggled closer to her husband. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard his cell phone ring, but he was either already asleep, or had decided not to answer it. Fuck it. This was her day with Van, and the outside world would just have to wait.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Van woke up to the sound of water running. He glanced around for Rowena, then realized she was in the bathroom. The light in the room was bright, and when he glanced at the clock he knew why. It was four in the afternoon. They’d fallen asleep. He rolled onto his back and smiled as memories washed over him. How could anything be more perfect than this? She was all right. He’d restrained her, paddled her, flogged her, and then fucked her for what felt like hours, and she was okay.

  When she emerged, she smiled at him, and his dick grew hard again. “I’m starving. Should we get takeout?”

  “You’re going to go and pick it up?”

  She laughed and swatted playfully at his arm. “That’s not fair.”

  “Why not? You’re my sub today, remember? I know that Nash and Ian don’t go out and get food for Angela.”

  “Oh, I think they do.”

  He put his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. So if you want food, you’ll have to get it.”

  �
��Sadist.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll call Kasper’s Pizza. He delivers.”

  “Your Dom doesn’t want pizza. Your Dom wants food from The Black Whip.”

  “Oh…that sounds much better than pizza.” The Black Whip was an upscale restaurant on Cheyenne Boulevard, down the street from Indulgence, and owned by Dalton Metcalf. “All right. I’ll agree to go and pick up food from there.” She reached over and picked up her phone from the nightstand. “Want me to call and order it?”

  “Of course, sub. Did you think I was going to do it?”

  “Watch it, Sir. You’re taking this a bit too seriously today.” She grinned as she said it, and Van found it difficult to deal with the emotions racing through him. This was what he’d hoped and prayed for, but he had thought it would take a long time to help her get over her fears and insecurities. He could hardly believe this afternoon had happened for them.

  “All set. I’ll just get dressed.”

  He sat up. “You really don’t have to go alone. I should drive with you.”

  She pulled a bra and panties out of the drawer and put them on. “I refuse to be afraid to drive around this town in broad daylight. The Black Whip is less than ten minutes away, and at this time of day, on a weekday, there will be plenty of traffic on the roads. I’ll take my phone, okay? Let me do this for you.”

  She was right. He didn’t want any of them to feel like prisoners in their own homes, and it was still daylight. The cops were watching his house, and she was only going a few streets over. But after a moment, he scooted off the bed and crossed the room to pick up his jeans. When he went to put them on, his cell fell out of the pocket and he realized he’d missed a call. “Fuck.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He turned around to find her dressed already. “Hang on. Let me see what Mateo wants first.”

  “I thought I heard your cell ring earlier.”

  “I didn’t.” Mateo answered on the first ring. “Hey, sorry. I missed your call.”

  “That’s all right. We think we have it figured out, but we ran into a snag with the wiring along the wall where I had planned to put in the treadmills. Do you have a second to talk about it?”

  “Sure. Hang on.” He covered the phone. “I’m sorry. This might take a while. Are you sure you’re okay going alone?”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t be silly. Of course I am. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”

  Van watched her walk out of the room, then returned to his phone call.

  * * * *

  Rowena noticed the red, early-seventies Camaro following her as soon as she turned onto Cheyenne Boulevard. While it wasn’t unusual for a car to be behind her, what struck her about this one was how she’d passed it earlier, parked near the corner of Arapaho Lane, as well. She knew her neighbors and the cars they drove. Everyone in this town knew everyone else, and they knew the cars they saw all the time as well. More people drove in the winter than in warmer months, when they walked or biked everywhere, so it was possible that someone had a new ride and was just cruising around in it.

  But there was still snow and slush on the streets. No man she knew who had bought a Camaro over forty years old would drive it in this weather, and that wasn’t a woman behind the wheel. The driver was a man, as was his front seat passenger. She was no less than five minutes from The Black Whip, and there were people all around her. No point in getting worried. Yet.

  Had Van said anything about what the missing three men were driving? No, he hadn’t. And he most definitely would have mentioned a red, vintage Camaro. She pulled into the parking lot of The Black Whip, and the car continued down the street. Rowena let out the breath she’d been holding, but she didn’t exit her car until three people walked out of the restaurant. As she sprinted toward the door, she glanced south on Cheyenne but didn’t see the Camaro. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered, opening the door.

  * * * *

  Van glanced at the clock as he and Mateo talked about circuitry and how to fix what Van felt was a minor problem. He was annoyed, and didn’t understand why. It had been twenty minutes since Rowena had left. Shouldn’t she be home by now? Then again she’d probably had to wait for the food. She’d ordered enough to feed them for a week, so they might need longer than fifteen minutes to cook it.

  “Van? You still there?”

  Mateo had just asked him something, and he had no clue what it was. “Sorry, what? I missed that last question.”

  By the time he finally got off the phone with Mateo, Rowena had been gone for forty-five minutes. He called her cell but there was no answer. Panic spread through him like fire ants had been turned loose inside his veins, but he forced himself to calm down. She was probably still inside the restaurant, and couldn’t hear the phone ringing.

  He sent her a text, waited to see the “Delivered” message appear underneath it, and then he watched the display on the phone like his life depended on it. Why wasn’t she answering his text? Her phone was always on her, and she had it set to vibrate as well as to the ring tone, because she hated missing calls or text messages. So why wasn’t she answering him?

  Van paced the room with his phone in his hand. He ran a hand through his hair. Should he go and look for her? Why had he let her go alone? Should he call Tommy? And tell him what? That Rowena had gone out for food in the middle of the day, and because she hadn’t come back within forty-five minutes, he was convinced something had happened to her?

  Van let another fifteen minutes pass, and by then he found it difficult to breathe. He tried her phone again but it went to voice mail after five rings. He sent another text, but she didn’t answer that one, either. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to keep from losing it, and finally he called Tommy.

  * * * *

  Rowena heard her phone ring, and she heard the tone indicating she had a text message, but she couldn’t reach into her coat pocket and retrieve it because the two men who had jumped from behind a gray sedan in the parking lot of The Black Whip had bound her arms behind her back with twine.

  The entire thing had happened so fast that Rowena had had no time to scream. She’d had no time to think. One second she’d been walking toward her car, carrying two cardboard boxes filled with food, and the next she’d been shoved into the back of the Camaro, and the food boxes were left on the pavement where they’d fallen.

  They’d pushed her face down in the back seat, tied her hands behind her back, and then one of them had whispered in her ear, his breath hot and smelling of garlic. “Scream and I will slit your fucking throat.” Rowena had recognized the voice, but she couldn’t place it. The car had started to move, and she’d whimpered a few times, trying desperately to keep from passing out, until a man whose voice she didn’t recognize had told her to shut the fuck up.

  Van. Van was calling her and texting her. He had distinctive ring tones for both. He’d be wondering why she wasn’t back yet. How was she going to let him know where she was? Who were these men? They had to be two of the three that the cops were searching for. Were they going to kill her? Had she finally overcome her fears and learned to trust Van all for nothing? Was this really how her life was going to end?

  Tears spilled over her lashes and she struggled to keep still, but it was hard to breathe like this. She had to pee, and her stomach hurt from both fear and hunger. Her mouth was bone dry. She wanted Van. She wanted to turn back time and wait for him to finish his phone call with Mateo so that he could drive to The Black Whip with her.

  How fucking bold were these two that they’d kidnapped her in the parking lot of a busy restaurant? Someone had to have seen them. She was sure of it. Any second now, she’d hear sirens. Surely Van would call Tommy or Phil when he couldn’t reach her.

  Her phone rang again, and then the text message tone sounded. He must be in a total panic by now. She pictured his face, and tried to send him a mental message to call Tommy. Why hadn’t she thought to get the license plate of the Camaro? It
had a front plate. She remembered that now. But which state? It hadn’t been Colorado. Of that she was sure.

  “It’s down this road.” Whose voice was that? She knew it. But it was distant, as if it might belong to someone she’d known as a child. She tried to concentrate on both the voice and the image of the license plate she’d seen as the car made a sharp, curving turn to the left. Where were they? It felt like they were climbing. That must mean they were out of town, because no road inside the city limits had this sharp of an uphill slope.

  The tires skidded and slid. They were driving this rear-wheel drive car on pure ice and snow, the idiots. Anyone from Colorado would know better. They’d be lucky to make it up this hill.

  That’s it. They’re not from Colorado. Then why did she recognize one of the voices?

  “Give it less gas! I told you to be careful on this blasted hill.”

  “Oh God.” She hoped they hadn’t heard her whisper. She knew whose voice that was. She hadn’t heard it since high school, but there had only been one Passion Peak resident who’d used the word “blasted” in everyday conversation. Carma’s cousin, Marco, was the son of Carma’s uncle Russell and Anne Newbury, a model from London that Russell had met while visiting his family in New York. They’d lived in London until Marco was twelve, and then settled in Passion Peak.

  Marco had been an oddity in the Passion Peak school system because he still had a slight British accent for several years. Even after it faded, he continued to use British expressions, “blasted” being the most prevalent. In fact, a lot of the kids in his grade, one up from Rowena’s and Carma’s, had started using it in place of “fucking” to get away with swearing in front of teachers and parents.

  Marco had gone to college in New York City, and as far as Rowena knew, hadn’t been back home to Passion Peak since. His parents had gone back to London about ten years ago. Marco Mandanici was one of the men who had kidnapped her. It all made sense now. Van had said that Carma’s cousin Jonas had confessed to telling the men which homes to hit. It would make sense that they had more than one person familiar with this town and its legends among their merry band of treasure hunters.