by Storm Chase
Her breath whooshed out. “Exactly the same?”
“Hmmm.”
“All right,” she said with a small smile. That sounded like a reward, not punishment.
Five minutes later, she arched and gasped. Instantly, he lifted the butterfly. “Please,” she whimpered. “I’m so ready!”
“Patience.” His finger brushed her lips then he settled himself over her, nuzzling her nipples, rubbing her waist and kissing her inner thighs.
She gasped and strained as she neared the edge of orgasm again but he switched off the butterfly. Teasing her, he rubbed a finger under the vibrator. She squeaked in half protest; the touch was too light to let her cross over into release. She could feel his delight in titillating her.
He played with her nipples, licked her navel and ran his hands down her waist. His gentle touches were heaven; Cleo moaned and whimpered with frustration as he led her to and from the edge of orgasm. She lost all sense of time, floating in space, immersed in pleasure.
“Want to come?” He spoke softly as his fingers rubbed her clit and withdrew again.
She wanted to beg but all that emerged was a supersonic squawk. She writhed helplessly, her voice totally suspended by want.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The fingers came back, rubbing irresistibly. At the same time, his tongue swirled in her navel.
Cleo panted, squirmed and bucked at the sensations of bliss that swept through her. Dimly, she could hear him laughing. “Come on, love. Come for me.”
The voice was irresistible. She felt her body clench and let herself fall over the edge into ecstasy. The butterfly came back on, its tiny vibrations creating tidal waves of sweet shudders.
Vaguely, she felt him move and stand up. A whisper of sound told her he was shucking off his shirt and jeans. She didn’t care. The orgasm was still bathing her in soft clouds of heaven.
A light pressure revealed his returned presence. He was kneeling between her legs, kissing her waist and running his tongue over her neck. At his touch, quivers of delight raced through her, rebuilding the tidal wave that had engulfed her moments ago.
She could feel his erection pushing against her. Instinctively, she tried to arch against him, trying to take him inside her. Held in place by her bonds and his body, she squalled with vexation as he leaned up and kept out of her reach. She wanted him inside her but all she could feel was the tip of his cock rubbing against the hot, wet tightness of her need. Teasing, rubbing, keeping her on edge of trembling ecstasy, and driving her insane.
“Want it, love?”
She heard her answering moan rip from her innermost being.
“Here we go.”
He launched into her in one thrust, the power of which made her gasp. She was helpless, powerless to withstand him. The feel of his hard body against hers, the hot, dark scent of him surrounding her and his quickening breath combined to ramp up her excitement again.
Her entire being was focussed on that hard strength piercing her. Reflexively, she tried to bring her legs over his back, to mitigate the driving force of him, but the scarves kept her in place. She canted her hips, moaning with delight at the sweet deliciousness that flooded her.
He pulled out and thrust back experimentally, waiting to see if she could take all of him; when she arched, straining to welcome him, he pulled out again and thrust in harder and deeper. Her happy gasps and the smooth contractions of the muscles deep inside her revealed her intoxication.
“Don’t come yet, love. Wait for the word.”
He slid in and out of the hot, wet depths, luxuriating in the feel of her. The sweet body lying helplessly underneath him, shuddering with delight, was driving him wild. He had worked to banish her fear and had expected compliance, not this passionate response.
He paused briefly to set the little butterfly vibrating a little faster. Instantly, she tensed and tried to buck. He let part of his weight rest on her, holding her down. When she gasped with desire and tried to arch against him, he began pounding into her with long, smooth strokes.
Her arousal mounted. Her breath was coming in gasps, her head rolling back and forth as her efforts to match his thrusting inside her were frustrated. Her moans were continuous now as she pulsed with pleasure.
Feeling her clench around him, her inner muscles gripping him rhythmically, he let himself go, pulling almost out of her before ramming deep into her again, every stroke fiercer than the last.
The delicious merciless pounding was driving her outside of herself. Her whole being was centred on the hot waves of bliss that were flooding her.
He could sense her throb and stiffen in anticipation of orgasm. “Wait, love. Not yet.”
Although he tried to still himself, to prevent her from coming, she lost herself completely. The orgasm that tore through her set her vocal chords free. She could hear herself screaming as she came.
The fierceness of her climax swamped his senses, pulling him along with her. Helplessly he felt his body arch and explode inside her.
She heard him groan as he poured himself inside her with sharp thrusts. The feel of his hard body straining against hers was sheer heaven. Bathed in shuddering aftershocks, she basked in his heat and strength.
When he finally came to a shuddering stop and switched off the butterfly, he paused to lick the lipsticked mark at the base of her neck. The slight touch was too much; Cleo tried to curl up, away from the overload of sensation.
Aware she couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out of her carefully and reached for the scarves that secured her legs. The highwayman’s hitch knots released with a swift tug but he could see she was past conscious movement. He turned her onto her side gently, freed her wrists and slipped off the blindfold.
“All right, love?” All he heard was a tiny sigh.
He put an arm around her experimentally, unsure if she’d want the physical contact. The moment he touched her, she curled up against him and reached for his hand.
He lay down, drawing her into his arms. When she sighed again, he turned her around, tucking her head into his shoulder and pulling her body across his so he could cradle her. She clung to him, her breath coming in small, shuddering gasps. He gentled her, enjoying the hot sweet scent that came from her in waves. She smelled earthy yet fresh, like freshly mown grass.
“Enjoy yourself?” he murmured.
“Gnpf.”
“Good. You know you came again without permission?”
“Mmmm.”
“We’ll do it again tomorrow and see if you can get it right. That ended a little too quickly.”
She sighed something but Connor realised he might as well have saved his breath. She was fast asleep in his arms.
Chapter Five
When Cleo woke up next morning, she lay absolutely still, totally uncertain of where she was. Gradually the strange sounds separated. She recognised the caws of parrots and the screeches of monkeys. She remembered the night before and knew instantly that she was alone. She opened her eyes cautiously and blinked at the light. The sun was high in the sky. Connor was nowhere to be seen or heard.
Cleo luxuriated in the soft sheets before looking down at herself. She gave a gasp of dismay. Her skin was covered in huge red marks. She didn’t remember Connor biting her. Funnily enough, it didn’t hurt. Carefully, she touched a red gash. It was lipstick.
Groaning, Cleo got out of bed. Her bones were sore from sleeping on concrete for so many weeks. But remembering the brutal way he’d pounded into her the night before, amazingly delicious as it had been, Cleo was certain that some of her aching muscles were courtesy of Connor.
She stumbled out of bed, picked up her clothes from the floor and went into her own room. Having a private toilet and shower was unadulterated luxury. The jungle was beautiful and the sun was shining. Cleo hummed in the shower as she soaped herself twice, got off all the lipstick, shampooed her hair until it squeaked and finally switched off the water. When she turned round to look at the jungle below, she almost screamed. A cott
on-top sat a foot away, looking at her boldly. She breathed again. Monkeys weren’t scary like massive cockroaches. When she clapped her hands, it fled.
She went looking for Connor. He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. She went outside. The pool glinted invitingly. Hopefully she could have a swim later. The garden was empty too. Maybe he’d stepped out. She went to look out of gate.
“Cleo! Come here!”
She jumped a mile at hearing his sudden bark. When she looked round, Connor appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He was carrying a spade and he was looking rather angry.
Hastily she scuttled over to him. “I was looking for you,” she placated him.
“You don’t leave these walls, Cleo.”
“All right,” she agreed.
Connor looked at her thoughtfully. “We’re 50 miles away from Medellin,” he said slowly. “And that’s going cross-country. By road it’s five times the distance.”
Cleo looked at him, not understanding what he was getting at. He was still looking rather annoyed, so she nodded and tried to look knowing.
Connor wasn’t fooled. So she hadn’t been thinking of trying to leave and find Garcia Riviera. He patted her shoulder. “We’re in FARC country. And the aguila negra come round too, sometimes.” He could see she still didn’t understand. “Paramilitary.”
“Oh, army.”
“Not exactly. They’re terrorists.”
“Oh!” Cleo looked around worriedly, as if expecting them to appear in the garden.
Connor smiled at her. “You’re safe here but don’t leave the compound,” he told her. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Yes, Connor.”
She was relieved he wasn’t mad at her. The smile boded well too but Cleo was a little unsettled by him. She was very grateful he’d gotten her out of jail. Cleo knew that if it hadn’t been for Connor, she would have killed herself. Also, last night had been terrific. Looking at him now, she remembered how he’d taken pains to make sure she’d enjoyed herself. Even so, she had a feeling of coiled menace. It sounded dramatic as she considered it, but it was how she felt. And it wasn’t just the pale eyes or deadpan look, or the story about the dead muggers.
Cleo decided there was something disturbing about the quiet way he held himself. It was like he was waiting for something bad to happen. Then there had been that rage she’d seen in his eyes when she’d mentioned Juan. She thought she’d also seen it last night, when despite the promise she’d made about doing whatever he wanted, she’d set limits. But he’d been all right about that too, so maybe she’d gotten the wrong end of the stick. Even so, she also remembered that Juan, Juan who wasn’t afraid of anyone, had been uncomfortable when he’d seen Connor at the bar. That night seemed a million years ago.
She wondered where Juan was. If only she could talk to him, maybe he’d forgive her. Maybe he could make a deal with Connor. House arrest with Juan would be heaven. There must be a way to get in touch. Connor had been quite explicit yesterday that he didn’t like Juan and she was not to mention him even but seeing Connor was smiling now, maybe it was worth asking again. Maybe she could borrow Connor’s phone.
“Erm, Connor?”
“No, you can’t contact him.”
“But...”
“No mentions of that man, no whining, no complaining, no changing your mind.” Connor looked at her, his eyes cold. “I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing, Cleo. We have a deal and you’ll stick to it.”
Cleo shut her mouth with a snap. The nasty look in his eyes killed any urge to protest.
When he saw she got the message, he went back to turning over the soil. Thinking about Garcia Riviera helped put edge into each spadeful. Connor wished he were digging a grave for the fucker.
Cleo watched silently. He was turning over the soil with small economical movements. It looked simple but she suspected it was hard work. The ground looked like brick. From the look of him though, he was enjoying the workout. He was calming down again.
Cleo thought about what Connor had said. Clearly he’d planned for her to come here since she was arrested, or at least since the day that prison doctor checked her over. There was that whole weird thing about her pills too. Men never thought about stuff like that. “Have you done this before?”
“Not quite. I’ve dug plenty of ground.” He decided not to tell her about the mass graves he’d helped dig in the Congo and Afghanistan. “But this is the first time I’ve planted beans.”
“I meant, me. Erm, you know. Am I your first, erm, pet?”
She thought at first he might not answer her but, after turning over a few more spadefuls, he shrugged. “You’re not the first.”
“How many pets have you had?”
“Don’t know. Some lasted a few hours, some days, the longest was a month when I was on leave.”
“On leave? From where?”
“Army.”
“Oh. Were you in the army long?”
“I joined when I was 17.”
She could tell he didn’t want to talk about his army days. Although she was curious, she’d leave the subject for another time. “Your pets. Did any of them come from the slammer?”
He was tickled at her choice of words. “No. Never.”
“Oh.” Cleo watched him dig another row.
Her sudden silence was suspicious. “What’s bothering you, Cleo?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to know if you got this way erm...” She couldn’t think of a nice way to ask if something in his army career had made him a perv.
“You want to know why I am this way?”
“Yes.”
“No reason. I just am.” He continued digging.
“But why me, then? I mean there’s clubs and stuff for perv... erm, people like you.”
Connor had to smile. “Perverts?”
Cleo looked at him anxiously. “Oh no,” she lied. “No, I meant to say people. Really.”
Connor was enjoying himself. She was refreshingly open.
Cleo thought that he wasn’t going to answer but after a few minutes, he stopped digging and looked at her meditatively. “Bondage and rough sex isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. And as you may have noticed, I’m not living in the city.”
“Right.” Cleo looked around. She had no idea that her tone suggested he hadn’t looked hard enough.
“Country girls tend to be married by age of 17 and city girls don’t want to live out here,” Connor informed her. “I did hook up with a local girl about a year ago but it didn’t work.”
“What happened to her?” Cleo asked.
“I put her body under the lettuce bed.”
Cleo gasped in horror.
Connor smiled briefly. “Kidding.”
Cleo giggled in relief as he began digging again. “Was it because of the safeword thing?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No. We just didn’t suit.”
“Isn’t it dangerous if you don’t have a safeword?”
“Possibly. I’ve just never been into all that.”
“Because it’s not you being lashed to the bed,” Cleo said without thinking. Then she looked at him worriedly. She thought he might be angry but he just shrugged.
“I didn’t notice any complaints last night.”
Cleo giggled. “If you’d told me I would like being tied up and shagged like that, I would have thought you were barking.”
Connor grinned and began digging again. Cleo watched him start another row. The sun reflecting off the nearby pool had a strange, liquid look. The landscape shifted and blurred. Cleo blinked rapidly. Everything returned to normal.
Connor was almost near the end of the row. “When I’ve finished this bit, you can start planting French beans. One seed every six inches. Then cover with two inches of soil and water it.” It would keep her busy. By the look of her, she was feeling withdrawal effects. Work would help control that.
At the thought of hanging out in the garden, in the clean air and sunshine, Cleo smiled. “Ok.”
> It took her an hour and Cleo found she was enjoying herself. “I’ve never gardened before,” she said chattily. “This is fun!”
Connor smiled. “Good. That’s it for today. Go and make us some breakfast. Eggs, toast, cereal and fruit. Call me when it’s ready.”
He made the digging look effortless but he was sweating. She caught a whiff of his scent. It was dark, somewhat musty. She was reminded of the way he’d felt and smelled when his body had been on top of hers the night before. The thought made her feel a little strange. Half embarrassed. Half smug. As if she’d achieved something.
He glanced up at her, and smiled. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what she was thinking. “I’ll go and make breakfast,” she mumbled.
When he appeared half an hour later, damp from the shower and smelling of soap, she had just finished scrambling the eggs. She didn’t think she could fry them without breaking the yolks, and she could never remember exactly how long it was before soft boiled eggs became hard as bullets, so scrambled seemed safest.
He tasted the eggs and grimaced. It was a sloppy and unseasoned mess. She didn’t seem to notice. She was eating her share quickly. He took a sip of the coffee. It was equally revolting.
Conner put down his cup decisively. “Are you trying to poison me?”
Cleo froze. Instantly he was ashamed of himself. “You’re a dreadful cook, Cleo,” he continued gently. “And this coffee is awful.”
“Sorry.”
Her voice was a whisper. He really had to watch his tone. He didn’t want her frightened of him. “Never mind. I’ll teach you.” He looked at the plate. “I’ll eat the eggs but the coffee has to go. Let me show you how it’s done.”
His tone was mild so he wasn’t mad at her. Cleo was hugely relieved. She’d half expected him to yell at her. Juan would have. Hastily she banished the thought. It was disloyal. Juan had a Latin temper. Connor was... She realised she had no idea what Connor was, but at least he wasn’t yelling.
“Watch, Cleo.” He made coffee, filling the filter cup completely, and then adding half the amount of water she’d used. When it finished percolating, Cleo added milk and sighed. It was just like Starbucks latte. Connor drank his straight.
