TH-Boy-ARE-epub

by EdenBradley

  I mean to leave the next morning, to make us less traceable, but we stay in that hotel room for another three days. The sex is fucking off the charts. Kinkier, maybe, because it’s not nearly as hardcore as what we’re both used to, which makes us laugh when we talk about it. I spank her—with my hands, with a hairbrush. I bend her over the little secretary and fuck her ass. I bite her until she bleeds, until I have to clap my hand across her mouth to stifle her screams. I make her squirt so much I have to call housekeeping to change the sheets three or four times a day. I order her to get down on her knees and give me head, fucking her face until she’s choking and tears run down her cheeks. I make her suck my pierced nipple until I come all over her beautiful tits. But this all seems a little vanilla to us both. Still, it’s unbelievable, how good it is. And in between the kink and the sex and the kinky sex, we talk about fucking everything.

  Eventually I decide it has to be our last night, that it’s time to move on. I’ve ordered dinner, and we’re sitting on the floor in front of the fire having one of our picnics again, the scents of beef bourguignon and acrid, earthy wood smoke mixing with the scent of desire that’s always a part of us. I’m feeding her again—at some point I decided this is the only way I will allow her to eat. We’re both wearing the thick, soft hotel robes we’ve mostly lived in when we’re not naked—which isn’t often—and her lovely, bruised breasts show from between the folds of the open neckline.

  “Prettiness, have I told you how much I love that you wear my marks?”

  She smiles, batting her long lashes, tipped in gold in the amber light of the fire. “Every day.”

  “I plan to tell you every day forever.”

  Her smile broadens. “And to mark me every day?”

  Reaching across our picnic to pull out her tit and pinch her gorgeous pink nipple, I tell her, “You’re a very kinky girl.”

  “Oh! Yes, I am. I remember having these little fantasies about the priests in church…”

  I laugh. “Oh, really? Maybe I’ll have to get a long black robe and smack your fine ass with a ruler.”

  She bats those long, golden lashes again. “Yes, please.”

  I play with her nipple for a while, brushing and teasing it, pinching it, then brushing it again, enjoying how damn hard it is. Knowing her little cunt is slick with her juices every time I touch her. Every time I hurt her. I fucking love how responsive she is, how eternally wet. I love talking with her just as much, and over the last few days, I’ve learned not to question feeling that way. I want to know everything—the inside of her brain, as much as the inside of her lush body.

  Letting her nipple go, I sit back and tuck a tender piece of beef into my mouth before asking, “When did you go to church? I can’t imagine your father being a church man.”

  “No. He cares nothing about God.”

  “Do you?”

  “Believe it or not, I do. But I don’t think kink is sinful—I don’t know that I really buy into the concept of sin, as long as it’s consensual.” She gives a small laugh. “I suppose that makes me a terrible Catholic.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m a godless bastard who grew up on the streets.”

  She frowns, a pretty little pout. “Don’t sell yourself short, Christopher.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I do—or maybe I’m a realist. Tell me more about church.”

  Her pale brows draw together. “You want to hear about church?”

  Stroking her cheek, I twine a strand of her dark-red hair between my fingers, giving it a tug. “I want to hear about you.”

  “Well…Maman used to take me to church sometimes on Sunday. I remember the French nuns in Paris. Even as a little girl I was fascinated by them. They were so gentle, so beautiful to me, and I couldn’t wait until I was big enough to go to Sunday school. Maman taught me to say the word ‘catechism’. I was so little, and yet I learned to pronounce it in French and in English.”

  “Belle dans les deux langues.”

  “Christopher— tu parle français?”

  “A little. There’s a Master and Mistress, a couple from Bordeaux, that I serve sometimes—or, I did. They insisted I learn their language,” I tell her. “But my French isn’t so good.”

  “Au contraire—I’m impressed. But then, everything you do, you do well, so I’m not surprised.”

  “Believe me, my ego doesn’t need any fluffing up, my pretty girl. Tell me more about your Maman.”

  She bites her lip, making me want to bite it again, but I’ve been doing it so much, they’re swollen and bruised in places, and I manage to resist. Maybe I am learning some self-control? The Master would laugh at that.

  Small churning in my gut thinking of him. He’s a subject we’ve avoided these last few days, but I’m certain he’s on her mind as much as he is on mine.

  “Go on, talk to me about her,” I urge.

  “It’s difficult. I feel as if I’ve never recovered from her death. It altered my life so completely, at such a young age, and I’ve felt orphaned ever since. I know I keep saying that, but it’s something I can’t seem to get past. But you lost your mother, too. Don’t you feel it?”

  “I never had a mother—not really. Mostly I feel…anger. Shit, not just about her. That’s how I feel about most things.”

  She pauses, glancing away, then back at me, and says quietly, “I feel it, too—angry with her for leaving me, even though that’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fucking fair.”

  “No,” she says so softly it’s almost a whisper. “It’s not.” Then crawling to me on her knees to curl up in my lap, she says, “I have this terrible feeling… I’m trying not to, but it’s hard. And I have to ask you, do you think we can really have this? Because life isn’t fair, and I know I’ve had it better than some. Better than most. But to think I can truly have what I want…it seems impossible sometimes.”

  I squeeze her tight, needing to feel her body in my arms, to feel how real she is. My heart is hammering. Can I have what I want? Can I have her? But it’s my job to comfort her, not offer up my usual angsty rantings—that shit I need to keep in my own head.

  “That’s what we’re trying to do here. I’ll do the best I can for you—I promise you.”

  She nuzzles against my shoulder, and it’s that mad brew of pure sex and raw emotion this girl brings out in me. I hold her tight, my cock rising against the soft curve of her lovely ass in my lap.

  “We’re getting out of here in the morning. We should leave early.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Palm Springs, I think. I have a place down there. I know—what the fuck is a guy like me doing with a house in the desert, with all the golf courses and polo-shirted folk? But that’s exactly why. No one ever finds me there. And Aimée, we can’t let them find us. Not yet. We need some time and some distance. We need to get ourselves reestablished, so they don’t have any power over us.”

  “Do you really think there will ever be a time when they don’t? Can we ever not be their slaves anymore? Even if you are my Master—and you are—I don’t know…”

  “I’d like to think so. Yeah. I think so. I can’t go back to it. I’m done with that scene. I’m fucking done.”

  She’s quiet for a long while, clinging to me, her slender arms around my neck, and then I feel tears spill onto my neck.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you ever miss him?”

  It’s my turn to be quiet. And that night, when I take my girl to bed, I’m rough as fuck with her, clamping my hand across her mouth to muffle her screams, leaving her bruised inside and out, spots of blood on the sheets. But after, I feel closer to her, in some crazy way. That’s the insanity of this kink shit. She falls asleep in my arms, but I’m awake for hours, staring out through the open shutters at the clouds chasing the moon, listening to the crash of the ocean. Thinking about her question. Finally, at some point before dawn, I sleep.

  Morning comes in the form of the door slamming open. I bolt out of bed, naked and
peering through the half dark and the groggy haze of too little rest.

  “I’ve come to get you,” he says, locking his sapphire gaze on mine. He looks both full of fire and tortured, rage and a terrible sadness shadowing his beautiful face.

  We stare at each other for several long moments, then his fevered gaze darts to Aimée, who is still sleeping quietly after our rough night, blissfully unaware of the crisis before us in the form of our Master. So damn vulnerable—I would do anything for her. Anything.

  “Fuck you, Damon,” I growl, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. I feel ready to kill. “Not this time, God damn it. This time things are going to be different.”

  “Yes,” he says in his calm, sophisticated tone. “Yes, they will.”

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  BREAKING SKYE

  When he took her hand and led her into the dining room she followed with her head bowed, her body absolutely on fire already.

  The light in the dining room was dim, but she could still see the carved legs of the antique dining table. All of the chairs had been pulled away to ring the edge of the room. No artwork in this room, just enormous, ornately-framed mirrors on every wall. On a heavy, antique sideboard tall silver candelabra held ivory tapers, the flames making the shadows dance.

  He turned to her. “Take your clothes off, Skye. And get on the table.”

  “Wh—what?” Her legs went weak.

  “Shh. Just do it.”

  He reached out and slid his hand around the back of her neck, heating her skin instantly. Her body filled with the aching need to please him, the ache that had been left to build all week.

  She began to remove her clothing, her hands shaking. Her mind was emptying out, allowing her to do this, to let go. And with the last shred of reason she realized it was Adam’s mere presence which was doing this to her head.

  Soon she was naked and he was smiling down at her, his smoky blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. He moved in closer, until she could feel the heat emanating from him, the faint, male scent of him making her dizzy. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled, trying to steady herself

  “Get up on the table now, Skye. Come, I’ll help you.”

  He took her hand, steadied her while she climbed onto the cool, wood surface.

  “Lie on your back,” he told her, pushing her down just enough for her to understand completely that he was in control.

  The table was hard against her back, hard and silky at the same time. And she felt as naked as she ever had in her life. Naked and strangely beautiful. Even more so when Adam began to run his hands over her body—her stomach, her thighs, her arms. They finally closed around her wrists, where he stroked the tender skin there for a few moments before he lifted one and locked it into a thick leather cuff.

  She gasped.

  “It’s alright, Skye. Trust me. The binding will only free you more.”

  By the time he’d cuffed both wrists and ankles and clipped the cuffs to long black ropes attached to the legs of the table her heart was racing. But the vee between her thighs was soaked and pulsing with need. She pulled on the cuffs, testing them. She couldn’t move, her arms and legs spread wide.

  She shivered.

  She groaned.

  She loved it.

  He stood over her, stroking her skin again, his touch lighting tiny fires of desire all over her. When he took her nipples between his fingers and rolled them, she sighed with pleasure. When he pinched them hard, she moaned in pain. But it all felt good. He kept at it, tugging, pinching. Sensation shot through her body, her sex. She wished he would use those clever fingers between her legs.

  Please…

  He gathered her breasts in his hands, pushing them together.

  “Too damn perfect,” he muttered. Then he let her go and turned away.

  She had one small moment of panic simply because he was no longer touching her. But soon he was back. He leaned in close to her face and told her, “Stay as still as you can, Skye. This is going to hurt.”

  ***

  PLEASURE POINT

  He took her chin in his free hand, forcing her gaze to his. She loved how he manhandled her, taking her body under command. Her pussy was thrumming with need, her breasts just as needy, every inch of her skin craving his touch. Soft or hurting—it didn’t matter. She licked her lips.

  “Ah, what you do to me,” he murmured, biting his lip, making her want him to kiss her, needing him to.

  She moaned.

  “Yes,” he said. “I want to touch you. To do every dirty thing to you that’s been whirring through my head since the moment I saw you.”

  “God, Roan.”

  He blinked once, twice, then he yanked her body in to his, so hard her hips crashed against his, the chains clinking, her wrists pulling on the leather cuffs. Then the delicious length of his erection pressed into her belly and she thought she would drown in need—need she’d kept dammed up for years, finally overflowing in the safety of his arms.

  “Please, Roan. I just…please, please, please. I need…everything.”

  “Lord, girl.”

  Then he was on her, his mouth opening hers, his tongue sinking in. His arms were crushing her body to his and she could feel every hard muscle beneath his shirt. And none harder than his rigid cock.

  He fisted a hand in her hair, drawing her in tighter before pulling her back, then further back, as he bent over her to keep his lips on hers. His tongue was wild in her mouth—wild and sweet and as commanding as his fingers against her scalp. And God, his fist dragging her head down until she had to arch her back, bowing under the force of his pulling. The pain was nothing but exquisite pleasure and that sense of his command. That and the pure pleasure at his panting breath, his rock-hard cock snug against her heated flesh. And all she could do was give in. She wanted nothing else at that moment.

  This was what submission was, she thought through the fog that gathered in her head, seeping into her body like smoke, hot and sinuous, obscuring everything but the connection between them.

  Yes. Connection.

  Suddenly he released her, catching her with an arm around her waist as she stumbled. She was only vaguely aware of the mind-fuck he was orchestrating in making her lose her balance, only to catch her. Oh yes, he was very good at what he did.

  Don’t think. Just feel, as he told you to.

  He moved his lips over her throat, brushing the surface, not quite kissing. He murmured, “How attached are you to this lovely lingerie?”

  “What? I don’t know…”

  “Tell me exactly.”

  “Not terribly, I suppose.”

  “Excellent.”

  There was a soft snick as he cut her bra off with something that was cold against her skin.

  “Oh!”

  About Eden

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author Eden Bradley writes dark, edgy erotica and erotic romance for Berkley Heat (as both Eden Bradley and Eve Berlin), Bantam/Delta, Harlequin Spice and HQN, and Samhain Publishing. Two of her books have been Romantic Times Top Picks, and her novel FORBIDDEN FRUIT was profiled in Cosmopolitan Magazine's Red Hot Reads column in 2008. More recently her BDSM book THE DARK GARDEN hit the top paperback fiction charts in the UK. She has received or been nominated for numerous awards, including the Holt Medallion and the Passionate Plume, and several of her books have been RT Book Reviews Top Picks. Her books have been translated into German, French, Romanian, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, Czech, Polish, Indonesian and Japanese.

  As someone who has been involved in BDSM practice for much of her adult life, she relates in particular to her BDSM and kink stories, infusing them with her own truth about kink practice from her life experiences.

  Eden has appeared regularly on Playboy Radio's 'Night Calls' and the Hollywood In the Flesh readings. She loves art, shoes, tattoos, her Boston Terrier puppy, reading smutty books, chocolate and sex, of course, not ne
cessarily in that order.

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  More from Eden Bradley

  Now Available from Berkley Heat

  Dangerous Series

  Dangerously Broken

  Dangerously Bound

  Edge Series

  Pleasure’s Edge

  Desire’s Edge

  Temptation’s Edge

  Now Available from Samhain Publishing

  Sanctuary

  Tempt Me Twice

  Ink & Iron Series

  Obsession

  Midnight Playground Series

  The Seeking Kiss

  Bloodsong

  The Turning Kiss

  Eversong

  Rogue

  Celestial Seductions Series

  Winter Solstice

  Spring Equinox

  Summer Solstice

  Wasteland Continuity Series

  The Breeder

  Now Available from Bantam/Delta