by Cynthia Dane
Even though he said these intoxicating words, his touch to her cheek, to her hairline was gentle. Nala closed her eyes, lips slightly parted as she swayed beneath his promises of sex. Who the fuck am I right now? Whether Nala or Nightingale, she was enthralled. Because at the end of the day, it’s this stupid body rushing in hormones and demanding to get fucked. So maybe Nala was the one involved right now… he didn’t have to know that.
“Do you know why you need to be punished, Nightingale?”
She melted in his backward embrace, feeling her thighs inflame and his cock continue to harden against her ass. “No, sir,” she whispered.
“Two reasons. The first is because of your insubordination. You need more proper training. You need to learn how to be a better, more obedient sub for me when you, Nightingale, are around. Because…”
Nala swallowed, hard. “Because?”
“Because no matter who you are at the moment, I hate the fact that I want you so much. Don’t you get it?” His harsh whispers spat into her ear, both arousing her and scaring her, a little. Enough to make the arousal worse. “I’m supposed to be able to control this. Yet here I am, aching to feel your cunt all around me. Do you know what that does to a man like me?”
Nala knew she wasn’t supposed to actually answer, but she couldn’t help herself. “It makes you resent me. Because you wish I were your fiancée instead of some dumb co-ed your dick gets hard around.”
It was a low blow. One she would have to pay dearly for.
Vincent shoved her back down, tearing at her dress and promising to get her back for that. It’s okay. Really. Riling him up was becoming like a game. How hard could she get him, and how passionate? Didn’t matter what kind of passionate. Nala was quickly learning that these rough quickies were some of the best fun of her life.
They weren’t in love. They were barely partners of any kind. If anything, life was easier pretending to be his on-call sex worker. Got body, got services. I’m here for you, sir! She wasn’t like Robin, who salivated to call her man Master and get on her knees to blow him. She also wasn’t like Maggie, who looked like she should be anywhere but at The Aviary. Fuck me. She almost wished Vincent would. It didn’t matter what he did to her, as long as he meant it, and it felt good.
“You make it incredibly hard for me to go easy on you.” A zipper came undone. Nala’s breasts fell from her uniform, a dress Vincent had bought for her so he could show her off and then fuck her senseless. When she felt cool air hit her pussy, she knew it would be quick, and hardly easy. Sure enough, Vincent’s fingers helped themselves to her wetness, making Nala grip the pommel horse beneath her. Finger me, fucker. He did, not for her pleasure, but to make sure she was wet enough to take him right now. Well, it pleasured her anyway, and that made Nala – and Nightingale – grin against the taut leather.
“Don’t go easy on me,” she hissed, rubbing her ass against the rough material of his trousers. Nala searched for his cock, now free from its confines. “Punish me, sir. Teach me a fucking lesson.”
Her hair wrapped around his hand, tugging at her scalp, pulling her up, letting her breasts graze in joy against the pommel horse. “You are something else,” Vincent muttered, almost bewildered. “You’d almost be fun if you also weren’t such a confusing pain in my ass.”
“Don’t hold back how you really feel.” Nala grimaced as he pulled her hair again. That’s why you like it loose and long, sir.
“Don’t you dare either.”
Was that a challenge? Well, he hadn’t told her to shut up this time…
“Ho, shit!” Nala’s fingers pierced the pommel horse as Vincent drove into her, his cock already swelling to his near-climax size. Fuck me is right! It was like last Friday again, when her body struggled to open wide enough to take him. It ached again now, stretching, testing itself as Vincent all but forced himself into her.
“Why do you have to be so fucking tight, Nightingale…”
His growls did things to Nala that no man had been capable of doing before. Namely, they made her so hedonistic and wet that she felt like she could take two of him. That was silly, of course. One Vincent Lane was almost too much for a petite body like hers to handle by itself.
“Damnit, open up for me!”
“I’m trying!” Nala lay her cheek on the leather, smelling the age of it as she stepped on her tip-toes and tried to pull her legs wide. “Fucking take me! I don’t care if it hurts! Punish me!”
She got her first punishment when her ass stung from a sharp spank.
Another one. Nala cried out, knees buckling as Vincent held her cheeks apart and barged into her. Dear cosmos in the sky, it hurt! Regardless of how wet she was, it wasn’t enough to accommodate a man when he was like this. Yet it somehow feels so good. This rough way of lovemaking – if it could be called that – was a just punishment for being so insolent a while ago. I’m sorry, not really, but I’m sorry.
“Yes!” The best part? Being able to mouth off for the first time since they started having sex almost a week ago. “Fuck me, sir!”
Every time he pulled slightly out, she became wetter – and every time she became wetter, he informed her how easy she was. One of his hands held her down while the other pinched her ass, reminding her that he was there, owning her, making the shortest work of her libido.
“Do you like it, Nightingale?” It helped that he kept calling her that. It fueled the fantasy building, the one where she was a lawless, loose woman who was into the sorts of things Nala Nazarov would never in good conscience do. “Do you like it when my cock devours you?”
“Yes!” Her forehead tapped against the pommel horse with every hard thrust he gave her. “God, yes!”
Vincent stilled within her, squeezing her hips as he pulled up one leg and slipped deeper into her. “Do you like getting fucked as if you’re nothing?”
“Yes!”
“What do you want, Nightingale? Do you want to come for your Dom?”
My Dom. There’s a phrase she never thought she’d hear. “Yes… oh my God, please!”
Her body shook with the need to orgasm. Vincent was her ticket to heaven, and most of all, he still carried a loaded gun. I want to feel him inside me like that again. Filling her, spilling from her, marking her skin and letting her feel the tangible proof that he had been there and felt good as well.
“Let me come, Master! Come inside me, please!”
Vincent showed her body so little mercy in the next minute that Nala thought she would fall onto the floor and die. His cock owned every inch of her cunt, his hands clawed at her skin, pulled her hair, and poked at the edge of her mouth. When he slipped between her legs and began to stroke her clit, she whimpered to the point of tears.
“Oh my God!” she cried, riding the sudden orgasmic wave crashing over her. Nala’s body tightened around him, holding him there with such determination that it was any wonder he was able to keep fucking her at a steady rhythm. “I’m coming!”
He increased his speed, pushing her through her orgasm. “Do you want this?” he heaved into her ear, each breath more harried than the last. “Is that all you want now?”
Still high on her climax, Nala sobbed into the leather beneath her with such relief. “Yes, holy shit, yes!” It would be the most delectable cherry on this sexual sundae. Nala loved cherries.
“Fuck, Nala!” Vincent grunted in satisfaction, his cock so stiff that Nala had nothing to do but prepare for the first burst. I’m ready. You don’t know how ready I am right now.
So when he pulled out and climaxed on her bare back instead of inside her, Nala stared in disbelief at the back of her eyelids.
“Too bad. You don’t get it.”
She lay still, his seed spilling down her back while her own wetness claimed her thighs. While she was sated with her own heavy orgasm, Nala’s disappointment at not being able to feel so one with him was indeed a punishment she never anticipated. Oh my God, is this what it feels like to disappoint your Dom? Is this what he means
by punishment? To deny me what I want? Nightingale was mortified. Nala was pissed.
“What a mess,” Vincent mumbled, zipping himself back up and tucking in his shirt again. “Suits you, though. You’re a mess in and of yourself.”
Pride shaken, but not shattered. Nala stood up, feeling the physical manifestation of her messy self streaming across her skin. Don’t care. Wouldn’t be the first time she bathed in body fluids. “And you’re an asshole.”
He watched her zip up and fix her hair. “An asshole who makes you come hard.”
“That’s not necessarily something to design your life around.” Nala faced him. I wonder where the bathroom is. She wasn’t leaving The Crow’s Nest without visiting. Or I guess I could smear his little swimmers all over that nice interior of his car. Nah, he’d like that. The more Nala got to know alpha male Vincent, the more she realized his world revolved around what his cock could do. “You’re also an asshole who doesn’t kiss much.”
“I’ll kiss you if I feel like it.”
“Obviously.”
Nala pulled back the curtain, ready to find that bathroom and demand to be taken home.
“Well.”
Both Nala and Vincent paled at the sight of Jay and Maggie near the door. Jay clucked in his throat and shook his head while Maggie grinned like a naughty aunt catching her family in a scandal. “Looks like someone owes me money. Here I thought you two weren’t a real thing.”
Vincent put a firm hand on Nala’s shoulder. She wavered back and forth in her stilettos. They were watching... or at least listening to me… Better than being on camera for Xavier Crow to jack off to, but not exactly Nala’s idea of a cool fetish. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Oh, we enjoyed both today.” Maggie pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it without any regard for Jay, who kept a respectful distance behind her. “Looking forward to more.”
Vincent stepped forward, taking Nala by the hand and pulling her behind him. “We’ll let you have the room to yourself, then. We need to be going.”
“I’m sure.” Maggie winked at them as they went by, a plume of smoke obscuring her perfectly white teeth. “See you at the next meeting.”
The first thing out of Nala’s mouth was asking where the bathroom was. Vincent pointed it out once they were back in the lounge, the sounds of people chattering and ice clinking against glasses almost welcomed. The second thing out of her mouth was expressing a “bad feeling.” Vincent did not hesitate to agree as he stood outside the ladies’ room and waited for Nala.
Entry #8
We are official members of The Aviary. And I am officially a fucking idiot who can’t keep his dick in his pants. The Dom in me has awakened, and I cannot keep him contained around that damned woman. Every time I take her I wake up more and more. All that careful planning is coming undone because I am more beast than man.
I want to punish her for making me feel this way. But I’m afraid that will only make it worse.
I can’t win. At this rate, she will be the only winner. My majestic Nightingale.
Chapter 18
“Got another batch coming through, Nala!”
Before she could cry uncle, a large box appeared on the rolling tray running through Nala’s station. She still hadn’t finished sorting through the current batch of T-shirts and jeans donated earlier that day. Now she had…
She took a cursory glance of the contents. Lingerie?
Oh, hell no! How did this make its way back to her? The company had a very strict no lingerie policy, no ifs, ands, or buts. Apparently, a boutique had gone out of business, and these were the items they couldn’t sell during their liquidation sale. So, brand new and never worn, but I still can’t process these.
Just another day at Nala’s job. She was getting beyond fed up with it, but what was a girl to do when her current thousands of dollars was coming from the equivalent of a sugar daddy?
She laughed into the box of new-used lingerie. Vincent! A sugar daddy! Would he even know what to do with a sugar baby? “Oh, baby, let me buy you some pizza and come on your back.” If Nala didn’t stop hollering in laughter, someone was going to come back and see what looked like her huffing a box of lacy panties.
Nala set the box off to the side so she could finish processing the T-shirts and jeans. For once, the donator didn’t completely fuck up the rules and managed to deposit a sizable amount of usable clothes. No crazy stains, no terrible tears, and the fading was what one expected from seriously used. That was great for the company, but annoying as hell for Nala’s remaining time.
There was only fifteen minutes left on her shift by the time she returned to the box of lingerie. What do I even do with these? Normally donated panties and the like had to go to the incinerator. These weren’t technically used. Banged around a bit in boxes and sitting on shelves for who knew how long, but a simple wash would make them usable.
Nala held up a pair of black lacy panties, amazed that a simple string was supposed to keep them on a woman’s hips. Oh, but they’re adjustable that way. A woman could tie them as tightly or loosely as she wanted. That would be great for my hips. Depending on the hormones of the month, Nala could have her version of thick, curvy hips, or stick-like bones protruding. Finding granny panties that stayed on or didn’t strangle her once in a while was a trial.
Now she supposed she had to dress her undies up too. If not for The Aviary performances, then for Vincent, her stupid sugar daddy.
Good job, thinking about him yet again. It had been three days since they last had sex, and Nala was already turning into a cock-starved nut. She imagined herself splayed out across a fainting couch, fanning her face as she claimed to have “a bit of the hysterics,” her hand constantly moving toward her thighs and demanding a man come take care of her. “Oh, Mr. Lane! You’re what the doctor ordered to cure my hysterics!” Whoops. Time to laugh in the underwear again.
In the end, Nala stuffed about six pairs of underwear, a bra that she could have processed but decided not to, and a couple of sheer negligees into her tote bag before leaving work. The rest of the goods were left in the box with a note for her supervisor – minus any mention of things Nala may or may not have lifted.
“Have used undies, will sell,” she muttered, sneaking out of work one minute after she was off the clock. She wondered if Vincent was the panty sniffing kind. God, no. The only panty sniffing that man did was what a woman was already wearing as he prepared to disrobe her. One of those guys in that club has to be a panty sniffer, though. Her money was on Lucian. Well, a girl needed something to think about as she walked home in forty-degree weather.
She got home in time for the mailman to stop by. Trailing right behind him was a private courier, who detoured around the mailbox and even the path leading up to the craftsman house. He walked right up to Nala, who carried a new collection of undies in her tote bag.
“Nala Nazarov?”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching her bag to her shoulder. “Yeah. Need me to sign for something?”
“No need. Here.” The man handed her a letter before jogging down the sidewalk as if someone were after him.
Nala glanced at the letter. It was addressed to her, but there was no return notice. Is that legal? No sense reading it out there in front of God and everyone. She took her things inside the house, passed by Patrick smoking a bowl in the living room, and sequestered herself in the bathroom.
The bright lights came on. The door locked. Nala leaned against the counter and tore open the envelope, fully expecting to see some suspicious white powder come pouring out. Instead, she got a thin piece of paper with tiny typeface scattered upon it. There was no signature, no name to go with the strange words.
We know who you are.
We know why you are after the man.
We will keep your identity secret from him.
Because we are on your side.
You have friends.
Nala folded up the paper and stuffed it in her f
ront uniform pocket. Although slightly shaken, she forced herself to remain straight faced and collected as she picked up her tote bag and went back outside. No need to settle into her closet right now.
She walked to the end of the street and took a bus into downtown. As she sat in one of the hard bus seats, she thought about what she would say. “I told you I had a bad feeling.” “Is this a joke?” “So, uh, sex?”
The bus dropped her off by Pioneer Square in the heart of downtown, making her trek a few blocks to Vincent’s office building. He told her to come by there if she had an emergency. Well, this seemed like an emergency. Not that Nala felt like she was in immediate danger… but this was definitely something Vincent needed to know about before anything else happened.
Unfortunately, it was Andrew who greeted her at the front desk of Lane Technological Solutions. Unfortunately, because his mouth turned at the sight of her, as if hordes of lice were about to start jumping out of her hair and all over his department store suit.
“Hello,” he said, trying so damned hard to not sneer. I know, I’m here in my uniform again. Nala picked something off her dull blue shirt and straightened her back. “If you’re looking for Mr. Lane, he’s currently in a meeting.”
Nala checked her watch. No way he’s having a meeting a half hour before he’s supposed to go home. “You might tell him I’m here. Tell him I have something he really needs to see.”
