by Vonna Harper
He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Still imprisoning her hands behind her back, he began massaging her tailbone with his hard knuckles; she felt the sensation clear through to her pussy.
“My name is Lon Storms. Does it mean anything to you?”
It did, vaguely—hadn’t she’d read it somewhere, maybe a headline glimpsed on her way to the business section. “I-I’m sorry. Should it?”
“I can’t answer that, lady. I play football. Hell, it’s damn near the only thing I’ve ever done.”
Bitterness coated the explanation. An image of massive men encased in pads and uniforms with testosterone oozing from their pores stormed through her, and like his knuckle massage, wound up in her pussy.
As a child, she’d loved physical education and sports but all too soon, there’d been no room for play in her life. She’d given up everything except running so she could continue to fit in her designer suits and meet her high-stress schedule.
“You don’t get it, do you?” His mouth was so close she felt his words on her lips. “I’m a professional jock.”
“Football? Wha-what position?”
He chuckled—or was it a growl? “The one that takes brains, although I’ll never tell my offensive line that.”
“Quarterback.”
“Quarterback,” he echoed.
She couldn’t think of anything to say. In truth, she didn’t care whether she ever spoke again. She’d been running long enough to have worked up a sweat; the night’s humidity licked at them. If Lon wanted his women cool and calm, she’d be rejected, but until he did…
Although it put strain on her neck, she reached for his mouth. At the first touch, something cool and alive snaked through her. Hungry for more, she parted her lips and increased the contact. He could shove her away, leave her feeling like a sex-starved whore. Shit, she was sex-starved. Because of her family’s wealth, she didn’t trust the motives of most men she came in contact with. But Lon Storms didn’t know who she was beyond legs, arms, breasts and lips.
Deep in rambling thoughts, she was slow to realize he was giving as good as he was getting—maybe more. His mouth, like the rest of him, felt hard and demanding. She sensed herself floating, caught in a current created by his greater strength. Not being able to use her arms was disconcerting. Add that to his legs imprisoning hers and she felt helpless, caught.
Yes, caught not just by his hands around her wrists and her body arched back and off-balance, but by her hard-driving need.
Giving in, she strained toward him as best she could, savoring his lips, feeling the strength of his perfect teeth, his heat, his demanding cock. He was slow to part his lips, but once he did, his tongue immediately danced out to explore her mouth. Dizzy now, she sagged in his grip.
As he probed and prodded, her pussy clenched in anticipation of embracing his cock. A growl rolled out of her. Acting on the catalyst it provided, she whipped her head to the side and freed her mouth from his invasion, then came back at him and clamped her teeth lightly but firmly over his lower lip. He stilled.
Wondering how far she could push both of them, she worked her jaw forward and then back. He remained motionless but was so tense it frightened her. Worried she’d crossed a line she wasn’t aware of, she released him.
“Don’t do that—ever again.”
“Why not?” she asked. Any sane woman would yell for help, but she wasn’t sane, wasn’t herself. Besides, they were alone in the wilderness.
“Because I don’t belong to you.”
His words told her he was talking about much more than a nibbled-on lip. “What about me?” she countered. “You act as if I belong to you.” For emphasis, she tried to pull her wrists free.
“For now, you do.”
You do.
“Say something,” he challenged. He crossed one of her wrists over the other and captured both with a single massive hand. Then he stepped to her side and ran his free hand between her legs. “Make me believe you don’t want to be manhandled.”
Manhandled. Controlled. She tried to look at him, but even if she’d been able to make out his features, what did she want to see? Nothing, her body answered when he slid his forefinger under her shorts and brushed none-too-gently against her cunt.
“No panties,” he said. “Why not?”
“I—it’s so hot.”
“Not good enough.” His finger traveled between her pussy lips, invaded. “I asked a question. I expect an answer.”
Any other time she would have let him know who the hell she was and how much money she was worth, how much clout the company she was part of had, but on the summer night, those things didn’t matter. He’d shown her that control began and ended with a man’s finger. He knew what to do with it. Hell, he knew how deep her need to float in a sex-driven world had become.
In her imagination, she saw herself stripped naked with chains on her wrists and ankles, another chain around her neck. She stood on a raised platform in view of leering men. When a big man holding a whip ordered her to spread her arms and turn, she did as she’d been ordered. She heard a deep, sing-song voice and knew she was being bid on. Someone laughed; someone else cursed. The whip man silenced them with a snap of his weapon, then ordered her to lean forward and place her hands on her knees. Trembling, she did as commanded. Something rough and hard was shoved between her ass cheeks—the whip handle! She should fight, scream, something! Instead, she continued to stand with her head hanging low while whip-man spread her buttocks and gave the bidders a clear look at her sex.
More laughter. Higher bids.
“Answer!” Lon commanded. He released her wrists but immediately snaked his arm around her and pulled her against him, pinning her arms to her side. He took advantage of his increased control by sliding two fingers up her cunt. Once, twice, three times he pushed them as far as they would go into her. “Why the hell weren’t you wearing panties?”
“Because—because I like the way it feels!”
“And no bra either.” He tightened his arm grip, extended his fingers, and squeezed the tip of one breast. “What the hell are you, a tease? You came here to see who you could snag?”
“No! Please…”
“What?” He separated the fingers in her cunt and pressed them against her so-sensitive walls. She sobbed and sagged down around the invasion. “Not fighting me, are you?” His voice became softer, almost a lullaby. “Fighting is the last thing you’d do because you want this so much.”
“Hmmm.” Unable to hold up her head, she let it sag and wound up staring at the trees. They moved languidly under the night wind as if swaying to an unseen beat.
She swore she felt leaves along her flesh, caressing, painting her skin. Without Lon’s arm around her, she’d collapse. That, like everything else that had happened since they’d begun running side-by-side, seemed right.
“Dance for me,” Lon whispered. He pressed against her pussy walls. She rewarded him by drenching his fingers with her juices. “Give your cunt to me. And through it—everything.”
“I’m trying,” she managed and stood on tiptoe so he no longer had to fold himself over her. He didn’t say anything and, trying to please him, she widened her stance. The trees seemed to be watching, and there was laughter in the night birds’ cries. She closed her eyes and stopped listening.
Her nylon running shorts were so loose, he easily worked his whole hand in them. Once there, he pressed the heel of his hand against her mons. Feeling as if she was melting, she pulled her body against him, then clenched her buttocks and swayed away, moved for him—for her—for both of them.
“More! Give me everything.”
“I’m trying,” she whimpered.
“Not good enough,” he said and pulled out of her.
She sobbed.
Chapter Four
Lon hardened himself against the sound of the woman’s cry. A small part of him warned he was risking an assault charge, but other forces were at work here—forces coming from th
eir surroundings and speaking of things both ancient and primitive, beyond his control.
A few minutes ago he’d been fighting, none too successfully, comparisons between the way he’d just been treated by a pair of calculating and powerful team owners and what life had been like for slaves. Now he was treating this small, trembling woman as if she belonged to him.
And she liked it. Hell, she needed it.
So did he.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He again closed his hands around her wrists and flattened her fingers against his naked chest, letting her feel his greater strength.
“Megara. Megara Force.”
“And you came to Orlando, why? Never mind; I don’t care.” Feeling his power, he again caught both her wrists in a massive hand. His free hand went without bidding to her breasts, and he fondled her under the tropical night-heated nylon. “Maybe later I’ll let you tell me who and what you were before you became mine. But now it doesn’t matter.”
“Mine?” she whimpered. “You say I’m yours?”
Tell her no, what remained of his sanity ordered. Tell her to run before it’s too late for both of you. “Yeah,” he said. “Right now you are.” He emphasized the point by pushing her away and yanking the sleeveless top over her head in a single, smooth movement. “I’ve had enough of being someone’s pawn.” He dropped the garment on the ground. “Tonight it’s my turn.”
Her tongue flicked over her lips. He reached out to capture her again, then something stole over him, and he knew the time had come to test the boundaries of whatever the hell was happening between them. Some essence born of the refuge was watching them, maybe directing them. Whatever it was couldn’t be described in ways that made any kind of sense and had to do with wild forces—wild and sensual. He’d never given thought to the world beyond his grasp, and yet suddenly and completely, he accepted that this midnight place ruled.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, and he knew how much of himself she’d handed him. Tonight they’d play their game. Tomorrow—who the hell cared?
“Anything I want. And I want a lot.”
She shivered and tried to cover her naked breasts. He pulled her arms away and placed them by her side. “Don’t keep anything from me, understand.”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, but her eyes, her entire body spoke of hunger.
“Good.” She hadn’t stopped shaking, and with the moon helping, he took his time studying her. She was older than the groupies who chased after professional jocks like flies to fresh meat. Her breasts sagged slightly, proof they were real. Good. He hated fondling silicone. Her belly was flat, but he’d have to see her fully naked to know whether she had stretch marks. “Take off your shoes.”
After a long moment, she crouched and undid the laces. Being low to the ground where the lighting was strongest allowed him to clearly see her features. Her skin looked flawless, no doubt the result of having the money and inclination to spend on it. Her hair was short with wisps that trailed over her neck and softly curving bangs covering the right side of her forehead. The tailored style didn’t come cheap.
Believing he could strip her mind of everything she’d once thought important increased his sense of power. He’d changed teams less than a week ago and still felt as if he belonged nowhere and had to prove himself all over again, but tonight, with Megara, he called the shots—not because he was larger and stronger, but because they both wanted it this way.
“Turn your back to me,” he said when she straightened and stood barefoot in front of him. She did so slowly, still trembling, looking back over her shoulder at him.
Going with instinct, he stepped behind her and yanked her against him. She tried to regain her balance, but he roped an arm around her so once again her arms were pinned to her side. He pressed a hand against her belly and took his time exploring the soft, smooth flesh, chuckling when she snagged in a breath. If it wasn’t for his cock’s demand for satisfaction, he could have spent the night playing with her.
But she didn’t want play. In a way that defied comprehension, he knew she needed to be taken places she’d never gone before, her body taught about stolen self-determination. And in the process he’d regain the control that had been taken from him.
Looking around, he spotted a sign affixed to a round wooden pole in the ground. The sign pointed the way to a public restroom and provided him with what he needed. He could have ordered her to walk over to it. Instead, he wrapped both arms around her middle and lifted her off her feet. She struggled, a little, her strength nothing against what he’d honed in countless weight rooms. Once he reached the post, he positioned her so her back was to it. “Stay there,” he ordered.
He felt her eyes on him as he returned to where he’d dropped her top and picked it up. Stalking toward her, he held up the thin nylon. “Put your hands behind you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What you want. What we both want.” He captured her jaw and tilted her head upward. “Did you hear me? Put your hands behind you. As they say, the game has begun.”
“Game?”
“One we both want to play.”
She nodded and licked her lips, and her eyes went wide. Just the same, the moon gave away her excitement. Slowly, letting him see her every muscle at work, she slid her hands behind her. He spent a moment studying her thrusting breasts and feeling the impact deep in his groin. Then he stepped behind her and used the top to bind her wrists. He didn’t think he’d cut off her circulation, but neither could she easily free herself. Feeling like a hunter with a game animal in his sights, he faced her.
“Tell me what you feel,” he said.
“Helpless. Scared.”
“Just scared?”
“No.” The admission sounded forced. “Excited, a lot.”
“Show me.” His fingers twitched, but he wasn’t ready to touch her—not yet.
“Show you what?”
“The meaning of the word excited.”
Again she licked her lips, and although the night was full of the smell of vegetation, he caught a whiff of female sex. He sensed her going inside herself, asking herself questions. In some parts of the world, a man like him could buy a woman and do anything he wanted to her. Money bought a woman’s body, her mind, even her soul. In truth, slavery appalled him, but this was fantasy, their escapism. His power over her made him strong. And this way he could ignore the reserve’s even greater power.
She rested her back against the pole, further accenting her breasts. Then she moved her upper body from side to side, sending her breasts into motion. They rocked with her and became living things. After a moment, she closed her eyes and flung back her head so it too rested against the pole. Her legs opened, paused, opened some more. She tightened her pelvis muscles and thrust her belly and pussy as best she could at him. He cursed her shorts.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he said. When she nodded, he ran his forefingers under the waistband and tugged at the elastic. “No matter what I do, until I give permission, keep your eyes closed.”
“I-I’ll try.”
“And don’t speak.” Leaning in, he pressed his mouth against hers, briefly gagged her with his lips. “Until I say you can, you will not utter a sound, understand?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He sealed her lips again, pressing his knuckles into her belly at the same time. “I want my property, my cunt obedient.”
She shuddered and would have straightened if he hadn’t ground his knuckles against her so-soft flesh. “Compliant, obedient, subservient. Remember that, cunt, understand.”
Tears leaked from under her eyelids, but she nodded. He longed to kiss the tears away, then reminded himself of the day he’d walked into his former head coach’s office and been told that his services had been sold to another club, and he had four days in which to move to Florida. At the words, he’d felt chains on his neck, wrists, and ankles.
Going with the emotion, he yanked down on her short
s, not stopping until they bunched around her knees. “Close your legs.”
She cocked her head to one side as if trying to follow his logic but did as he ordered. She hadn’t clamped her thighs together, and he took advantage of the scant space by ramming his hands between them. Although his cock begged to explore her pussy’s recesses, he put off what he knew would be both their reward.
He ran first his fingertips and then his knuckles over her soft thighs, creating friction and causing more juice to leak out of her. Smiling, he bathed his fingers in her fluid, then transferred it to her breasts. Over and over again he bathed her, gradually increasing the coverage until she was damp from collarbone to ribcage. He laughed.
She whimpered, and he again finger-drank from her cunt. Then he fed her her own juices by pushing his wet fingers into her mouth. “Lick,” he ordered. She whimpered but did as he told her to. When she’d licked him dry, he ran first one forefinger and then the other over her so-hard clit. Sobbing, she tried to spread her legs, but the fabric around her knees stopped her.
“Not yet, my pet, not yet,” he told her before teasing her clit once more. Her head rocked from side to side. Her knees buckled. She struggled to keep from collapsing.
Watching her, feeling her excitement, he was slow to catch his own body’s warning signs. His balls clenched and felt as if they were being yanked up inside him. His cock strained, strained some more. Aching, he kicked out of his shoes and yanked off his shorts. Then he bent his knees, drove his pelvis forward and buried his cock between her legs.
At the instant of the invasion, she straightened and with her eyes still closed, clamped her thighs together.
Caught him.
Imprisoned him.
Chapter Five
Megara strained to free her wrists, but the clothing-bonds refused to give. Her body felt inflamed. She couldn’t stop shaking. She desperately needed to see Lon, to touch him, hold him to her, but he’d ordered her to keep her eyes close and had tied her hands behind her. She’d become his prisoner, his toy. His sex slave.
