by Wicked Ties
The demanding growl startled her. He meant it. Now.
With a last lingering glance at him, one she knew held all her uncertainty and anxiety, Morgan complied.
“Sit back on your heels.” His voice drifted closer, punctuated by the military precision of his footsteps on the hardwood floor.
The stern note in Jack’s voice was something Morgan couldn’t overlook. She didn’t dare ignore him or hesitate.
Once she’d sat back on her heels, Jack trailed a gentle fingertip over the slope of one shoulder, as if petting her in reward. She gasped. The feathery touch startled—and enflamed. A line of fire blazed behind that simple caress.
Then he flattened his palm between her shoulder blades. “Lean down until you’re lying with your breasts over your knees. Arms above your head, palms flat on the bed.”
Morgan processed his request, racing to picture it. Child’s pose, if she’d been doing yoga. It was one she assumed nearly every time she attended a class. But doing it now meant leaving her ass and the line of her spine completely vulnerable to Jack.
His fingers between her shoulder blades began asserting pressure, gently but inexorably pushing her forward.
Finally, she went with it. She could always get out of it if Jack pushed her too far. She had a safe word.
With her cheek resting on the soft sheet, her arms stretched over her head while her legs remained tucked beneath her, Jack removed his hand from her back. She watched as he walked in measured footsteps to the head of the bed.
Her abdomen cramped with the unknown and her total fear of it. What was he doing? Planning?
“Sir . . . ?”
“Morgan, we’ve covered this. You don’t speak unless you’re given permission.”
“I just want to know what you’re going to do.”
The air in the room seemed to stop. She sensed his stillness, the whiplash of displeasure that burst through him. Knowing she’d disappointed him incited a tart, unwelcome sensation. Morgan’s abdomen churned again. Talking without permission was a no-no, as was asking questions. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew without a doubt that she’d gone beyond a faux pas.
Suddenly, he spurred into action, grabbing her left wrist with one hand. Within moments, a velvet rope wrapped around her. A pull, another tug, and a yank later, he stepped away. Discreetly, Morgan tried to pull at her wrist.
It was securely bound.
Before she could do more than begin to reel with the implications of that, Jack made his way to the other side of the bed, captured her right wrist, and repeated the process.
Both of her arms were immobilized, tightly but not uncomfortably tethered to the posts of the headboard. She gave a gentle tug, then a not-so-gentle one. Nothing. The bonds didn’t give so much as an inch. He must have been one hell of a Boy Scout, since those knots were perfect.
Panic rushed her like a wave from a tsunami. Oh, no. She was in over her head. Way over. Jack was . . . more. More man, more disciplined resolve, more iron control than she was ready for.
She struggled, pulling at her bonds with a frightened whimper. God, what had she been thinking? It was one thing to fantasize about giving a man utter control of her body. It was completely another to actually do it, even if she did trust him with her physical safety. How well did she actually know him?
But her bonds weren’t budging.
When she cried out again, Jack gentled her with a soft touch, curling his palm around the back of her head.
“Morgan, take a deep breath.” He waited until she did, then whispered in a quiet, hypnotic voice. “You’re safe. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”
The calm in his voice reached deep inside her. His tone asked her to be reasonable, not to panic. For a reason her logical mind could not fathom, that soothed her. She heeded his voice and stilled.
In reward, he smoothed his palm down the exposed length of her back. “Submission is about trust, Morgan. You trusting me not only to keep you safe but to give you everything you want, every pleasure you imagine. I can grant you those things, but not without your help. The pleasure comes, in part, from giving up total control.”
Suddenly, the caress at the small of her back was gone. Moments later, he replaced it with a sharp thwack on her ass.
Startled by his action, Morgan bucked against her bonds. “Ouch! Stop it.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a peculiar stinging began to prickle her skin. It created a fire that lingered where he’d spanked her.
“You’re not in control, Morgan. Your body is mine to pleasure or punish as I see fit. Right now, you’ve more than earned a punishment.”
She’d barely recovered from her surprise when he spanked her again, this time hitting the other cheek with an equal amount of force. Morgan bit her lip as the initial sting assailed her. Then, as before, the nip of pain gave way to the unexpected heat that spread across her ass.
“There are surprises. That’s intended. I will do things you don’t always understand or think you want. Or agree with. What’s important is that you trust that I know your body and your limits, and that you comply. Because you have trust in me, in my ability to get past your mental barriers to give you the pleasure your body craves.”
He smacked her again, a healthy slap for each cheek.
Morgan gasped. “Go to hell.”
The rumble of Jack’s laughter sounded behind her. “You’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, cher.”
He smoothed a calloused palm over the tingling flesh of her ass. The heat of his skin seeped in, mixing with the burn on her bottom, to create a fire that nearly had her moaning. How could she like it? Why should she? It made no sense.
“You can’t experience what you want until you learn to give yourself over to me. Completely,” he whispered in her ear.
Mentally, she railed against his words, even as she realized her vagina was completely wet.
No, no, no! He was spanking her like a wayward child. She didn’t like it. Really.
But the pain . . . it was becoming pleasure, thick and throbbing and impossible to ignore.
Morgan shifted, trying to avoid his hand. No such luck. Two more smacks, one for each cheek, both with more vigor than the others. She managed a snarl of outrage, but that didn’t stop the spread of fire from bursting across her skin.
Throbbing heat. Bone-deep want. Oh my God . . . Her flesh began to ache. Morgan felt blood dancing just under her skin, engorging her clit.
Fighting was useless.
“Do you understand?”
That voice, like a sexual drill instructor. Every word was wrapped in steel, but beneath that, she heard the taunting promise of what could be, the velvet promise of ecstasy.
Fresh heat crawled across her flesh, swelled her clit, strangled her protests. Her body demanded more.
“Yes, sir.”
“Much better,” he praised.
Only then did Morgan realize she was actually lifting her ass to his hand, anticipating the next blow. She became hyperaware of her empty sex and clawed at the sheet, aching for him to fill it.
The thrill of sensation took over then. Shivers chased one another down her spine. Her entire body felt hot, agitated. She’d been inflamed by the feel and scent of Jack when she’d taken him in her mouth, but this position, his gently punishing touch, made her aware of the fact that she was a woman and under his control. Aware that she was in a position that bared the most secret parts of her body to him, and tied down as she was, he could touch her—or not—at any time he chose.
A scary, heady realization—one that gave her more pleasure than pushing him to lose control with her had.
He glided the flat of his palm down her back. Morgan curled her spine like a cat, seeking the tingling heat in his touch.
Immediately, he removed his hand. “You stay still unless I say otherwise.”
His tone made it clear he expected a reply.
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.”
No, it wasn’t.
Morgan could feel her body temperature rising, her thoughts beginning to slide in a thick morass to a lust-choked swirl. Right and wrong were slowly being replaced with pleasure and pain, with the need to achieve orgasm. And oddly, with pleasing Jack.
He turned and walked out the door. Morgan glanced over her shoulder and watched him leave, his taut, bare ass inciting a fresh spark of need, even as his disappearance incited fear. Where was he going? He couldn’t just leave her here like this! How long did he expect her to remain in this position, waiting?
Morgan turned her head and started watching the clock on the bedside table. It ticked away in the silence. The only other sound she heard was her own heartbeat.
Five minutes slid by. Then another five. Her legs began to turn numb. She noticed the slight chill in the room his absence allowed. But something told her not to move. Something told her this was a test.
She didn’t intend to fail.
After another eight minutes, he returned with a smallish black box in hand and an erection that left her with no doubt of his ability to perform again. Without a word, he set the box on the bedside table, then glanced at her.
“You’re still in position. Good. Very good.”
He trailed a light finger from the small of her back down . . . down between the cheeks of her ass. She stiffened, gasped, tried to tighten against him. He hesitated, but when she made no further protest, he continued his quest down to her sex.
Then he was there, his fingertips gliding over the slick flesh pouting into his hand. Back and forth, all around the outer folds, spreading her moisture in a careless, unhurried pattern.
He was toying with her. Just toying! But she was too aroused for anger. Morgan thrust her hips back at his hand. Do something! her body screamed silently.
He merely used his other hand to smack her ass again.
“Stay still,” he demanded.
He wrapped his fingers around her hip to stop the provocative wriggle of her hips. She tensed, trying so hard to do as he commanded. Her muscles trembled with effort, as pleasure streaked unmercifully inside her.
“Your sweet pussy is wet, Morgan. Even more wet than this morning. And swollen. You think you’re ready to be fucked?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Morgan tried to hold her answer in. If she said yes, he would only torment her. If she said no, he would torment her even more. But pretending indifference to the magical mastery of his fingers trailing through her juices, between her sensitive folds, just wasn’t possible.
“Yes, sir,” she finally croaked out.
She ached everywhere. The need beat at her. Everything between her knees and her navel screamed for his mouth, his cock. Anything! She needed him to do something.
Jack merely kept playing.
“There’s too much fight in you. When you completely submit . . . then we’ll see.”
Oh, she wanted to argue that one. This was as damn submissive as she was going to get. He could either accept what she was willing to give or go jump off a—
Oh my God!
A pair of his fingers sliced through her moisture, through her slick folds—and plunged inside. A turn of his wrist, a flick of his fingers . . . He found her G-spot and began a firm but leisurely caress.
Almost immediately, the pleasure clamped around her thighs, pierced her clit, darted up her passage. Everything inside her body came alive as he continued an unmerciful press on that oh-so-sensitive spot.
She moaned, long, loud, then thrust her hips back at him in invitation once more. He declined, neither invading farther nor rubbing faster. He simply stayed the course.
Blood began to roar in Morgan’s ears. She became aware of her heartbeat vibrating inside her. Her clit throbbed in time with the rhythm. Perspiration broke out between her aching breasts, at her temples and nape, between her rigid thighs.
Higher, higher the man was driving her. And God, she was almost there, almost to the edge of the cliff. This was going to be a free fall from unknown heights. Her body tensed, preparing. She panted, wailed, wanting it more than anything . . .
Suddenly, he withdrew.
“I didn’t give you permission to come.”
“What?” She could barely catch a breath.
“You don’t come until I tell you to. Complete control, cher.”
He disappeared around the other side of the bed for a moment and grabbed the black box. What the hell was he doing? She was dying here, dissolving into a puddle of need, and he was digging into a damn box?
She moaned, aching frustration wracking her body in shivers. Fine, if he wasn’t going to help her, she’d help herself.
Morgan tried to wiggle back and forth to produce enough friction on her clit to send her over the edge. Moments later, Jack stilled her with a sharp slap to her ass. Then he anchored that palm on her hip, making it nearly impossible to move under the pressure of his grip.
“Bad girl. You’ll come when I say so, under my hand, around my cock. Not because you wiggled your ass for it.”
With that comment, Jack climbed onto the bed behind her. He plunged his fingers back into her. But rather than rubbing at that sweet spot inside her, he merely moved about, dousing his fingers.
“Spread your knees,” he demanded, fitting his free hand between them, urging her thighs apart.
Morgan complied, breathless, mindless, so ready to fall into the swamp of desire pounding at her.
Jack removed his fingers from her passage, gave her clit a breath-stealing flick. She stilled, thoughts chasing. What would happen next? What would he—
A touch later, where she least expected it, he answered her question.
Before Morgan could even protest, one of his fingers, slick with her own juices, penetrated her ass, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. Tingles formed a shocking circle of pleasure around the invasion. She gasped.
“No . . .” she whispered.
“Yes,” he asserted. “You have a beautiful ass. I’m not going to ignore it.”
He invaded her anus with a second finger. Burning pressure. Something so foreign and forbidden. The pleasure zoomed sky-high. Morgan gasped, then bit her lip. How could she like such a thing?
Yet, suddenly, it was impossible not to crave more. “That’s it, cher. Push back onto my fingers. I’m going to open you up and fuck you here soon.”
Then Jack burned away anything she might have said and sent her closer to the edge, plunging his fingers into her body with a hypnotizing rhythm. In, out, in, out . . .
The sensations were so new, so unexpected. He’d awakened so many parts of her, and they all screamed with need now. Her nipples were taut nubs that rubbed against the sheets with each penetration. Her clit pulsed with her heartbeat. Her wet sex still danced from his touch.
And now his fingers drove her slowly mindless, awakening the senses in a part of her body she’d only considered erotic in her most forbidden midnight fantasies.
Then the pleasure was too strong for thought. She could only move with his touch, arching to meet his fingers, mewl at the shock of sensation, the thrill. Her entire body was tightening, focused on reaching the pinnacle that grew and swelled, towering above her, engulfing her.
Jack withdrew his fingers from her ass. Morgan whimpered in protest before she could stop herself, before she could even think about what she was doing.
“I’m not done, cher,” he soothed.
A pop and a squishy sound later, Morgan felt something new, slightly cold, and definitely foreign, probing again at her back entrance. A vibrator. It shook as Jack teased a small circle around her sensitive opening.
Her pleasure was so focused there, so sharp, that Morgan couldn’t imagine anything overtaking it. Especially when he pushed the vibrator in a fraction.
“Push down,” he commanded softly.
Entranced, Morgan did. The vibrating probe quickly warmed in her body. She cried out in a sound of pure pleasure at the wicked desire it created. The vibe was about the same size as his fingers, but so smooth a
s he eased it in and out of her body. She arched to it, wanting more, feverish with lust. She cried out, grasping the sheet in her fists.
Jack moved directly behind her, covering her back with his body as he whispered in her ear, “You look so sexy with my vibe pleasuring your ass. A man could lose control just looking at you.”
Morgan looked back over her shoulder at Jack. He knelt behind her, his chocolate eyes scorching her already overheated skin, his shoulders wide and bulging as he gripped her hips with large hands. The breath seesawed out of his wide, muscled chest, now slick with sweat.
He looked like a man hanging onto his control by a thread.
She had no time to rejoice when he thrust into her sex, all the way to the hilt in one sizzling stroke. Morgan gasped at the feel of him filling her completely, her passage made smaller by the vibe in her ass driving her out of her mind. She felt full, packed. The double penetration made her claw at the sheets again, grab them in desperate fists.
“Jack!”
“Yes, cher. You’re like heaven,” he groaned as he thrust inside her. “Fucking whipped cream and cinnamon-spiced perfection.”
His rhythm quickly escalated to something fast and focused. The friction and vibrations had tingles screaming inside her tender openings. She felt her blood rushing south, flooding her sex, her ass. Morgan panted, screamed as the pleasure expanded faster than she could assimilate. Her knuckles turned white as she fisted the bedding. Dangerous need threatened to swallow her, steal her sanity, and never return it.
Jack was relentless. The climb to the peak came fast. Her teeth dug into her lip until she tasted blood. But nothing could hold the pleasure in.
Her cries became ear-splitting shouts. Morgan could feel herself tightening around his cock, gripping as if she would never let him go, rippling with the impending storm. He continued the smooth rhythm, fucking through the clamp of her sex with control and power.
With both passages penetrated, Morgan’s fantasies burst free in her mind. The one she denied having in the cold light of day flooded her, the image haunting her. Two men, each filling her, working together to overwhelm her, own her, fuck her until—
“Come, Morgan. Come now!” he shouted hoarsely.
