by Lane Hart
“You heard me.”
He stares at me silently for several long seconds, and then he finally concedes. At least that’s what I think he’s doing when he grabs the spreader bar he strapped to my ankles early this morning. Then he’s unlocking and unfastening the thigh cuffs to get them out of the way. He doesn’t bother with the wrist restraints since they’re not in the way of getting my shorts off, which is his next move. I watch his determined, handsome face as he undoes the front and jerks the denim down my legs and off before doing the same to my panties, yanking them off angrily like they have personally offended him.
He then stares down at me, holding my blue gaze with his deeper blue one that has darkened with lust, waiting to see if I’m going to put the brakes on things now. I’m not.
I may have been hungry and silent since this morning, but I was also so hot after Conrad put the cuffs on me that I thought I was going to explode. I knew he would enjoy my resisting, putting up a fight. In fact, I thought he would be so turned on that he would fuck me after I grabbed his rock-hard cock, but he’s the one who resisted.
Finally, after two days of refusing to touch me, of manipulating me that first morning with his mouth, he’s going to give me what I want.
Rather than say anything, I raise my knees and spread my legs apart, inviting him to do it already.
Without breaking eye contact, Conrad leans forward, lowering his head until his lips press a kiss to my labia, followed by a small, quick swipe of his tongue that sets my entire body on fire. The second swipe of his tongue makes me gasp. I instinctively shove my fingers in his hair to try and pull his mouth closer, but it’s unnecessary. Conrad’s hands grip the outside of either of my thighs to spread them wider as his tongue starts moving faster and faster until he’s eating me out like he’s the one who’s gone twenty-four hours without food.
“Oh my god, yes!” I scream when he sucks on my clit before feverishly lashing at it with his tongue.
Conrad’s groan echoes all the way through me. Then I hear the familiar sound of a zipper being jerked down. He moans deep in the back of his throat, and I know it’s because he’s fisting his cock. I can see his upper arm muscles flexing as he strokes himself which is so damn hot. I just wish I could see for myself. But the view of his heavy-lidded eyes watching me over my pelvis as his mouth does incredibly dirty things to my pussy will have to do for now.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop!” I beg him, meaning his mouth and his hand need to keep doing exactly what they’re doing.
My climax comes up on me quicker than a speeding train. I pull Conrad’s face to my body tighter as the first wave of pleasure passes through me. And when he suddenly shoves two fingers into my spasming cunt and starts pumping them in and out, fucking me with them, I nearly black out and lose consciousness as my body convulses. The room turns dark, and it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
Other men, Bob included, have tried to lick my pussy to make me come, but none succeeded until now. Maybe they weren’t doing it right, or I wasn’t able to let go. Whatever the problem, Conrad has solved it once and for all.
Conrad
* * *
I lap up every drop of Hannah’s arousal as she begins to recover from her orgasm while my hand moves faster up and down my cock. Humping the mattress while eating her out wasn’t enough. I had to take some of the pressure off. Still do or my balls may rupture.
Finally, I pinch the dripping head of my dick with my thumb and forefinger, and that hint of pain is what takes me over the edge. I come all over the hotel bedspread, not the least bit ashamed because it was worth it to taste Hannah and be the one to make her come.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to cross this line with her, no matter what. But after an entire day of silence from her, other than when her stomach growled with hunger, I was willing to do anything to snap her out of her stubborn behavior.
Turns out, she wanted something that I thoroughly enjoyed giving her.
Her shaking thighs eventually lower to the mattress, so I pull my mouth away from her pussy with one last kiss goodbye.
When I sit up, I’m temporarily struck by the sight of Hannah sprawled limply on the bed, her arms thrown high above her head, cuffs still on them as if they were being shackled in place there.
And just like that, I’m hard again. This time, with a need to slam my cock inside of her. Which is both stupid and dangerous since I don’t have any condoms.
Not to mention it would complicate things even more.
I roll out of the bed and put my cock away, then fasten my pants, feeling so much lighter and happier than I’ve been in…days. I needed the release more than I would have expected. Ever since I got on the plane to come to San Francisco, I was wound tight. Tighter than normal. Hannah didn’t help things. In fact, she’s so damn tempting that I’ve been aching for her since I walked into Bob’s house and saw her naked.
Fuck. I’m no different from that pervert.
At least I was the one getting her off.
I try and tell myself I shouldn’t feel guilty about going down on her. She’s technically a grown woman even if she doesn’t act like it most of the time. I did what she wanted to get her to eat and would do it again in a heartbeat just for the hell of it because I enjoyed being the one who made her squirm and got her off so good that she still hasn’t moved an inch on the bed. Although, it’s pretty fucked-up that I made a mess on her comforter. The least I can do is try and clean it up.
First, I pull out the tiny key from my pocket to unlock the cuffs still on Hannah’s wrists, then remove them. She doesn’t move while I work. And since I shouldn’t like seeing the indentions left behind on her dainty wrists, I rub at them as if that’ll make them disappear when it took hours to put the marks there.
I wish I knew what’s wrong with me, why I get off on hurting women and like seeing them in uncomfortable restraints. Not that Hannah seems to be in any discomfort now with her eyes closed, lips lifted in a small smile as she lies completely still on the bed. She looks completely fucking satisfied, and I love that I did that to her.
Finally, I give up on massaging out the indentions on her wrists when it’s obvious only time will make them go away. Heading into the bathroom, I retrieve a washcloth, getting it wet, and then take it back to the bedroom, trying and failing to scrub away the stain I left on the comforter.
“That was…fun,” Hannah says as I rub at the fabric between her outstretched legs. She still sounds out of breath.
“Now it’s your turn,” I tell her when I give up on the stain and straighten next to the bed.
“My turn?” She wets her lips, and her eyes drop to the front of my jeans. And fuck, I wish she wasn’t thinking about what she’s obviously thinking about.
“Your turn to eat,” I clarify, since I’m pretty sure she assumed I was referring to her giving me oral.
Hannah may be willing to give me a blowjob, but if I let her, I would feel even more guilty than I do now.
“Oh. Okay.” Am I making shit up in my head, or did she sound disappointed that I wasn’t going to let her suck my dick? “When my legs decide to work again.”
Too impatient to wait for her to move and needing to get my mind off her offer, I fix her a plate with a sandwich and chips I picked up at our earlier stop and put it on the bed next to her, along with a bottle of water on the bedside table. She’s gone way too long without eating or drinking as it is.
“Thanks,” she says when she sits up and reaches for the bottle, then freezes, as if she didn’t mean to show me any gratitude.
“Least I can do,” I tell her so that she’ll finally eat and drink. I heave a sigh of relief when she finally picks up the bottle of water.
She’s not wrong. She shouldn’t be thanking me for a damn thing.
I’m hauling her ass back to Myrtle Beach against her will. If I were her, and someone had tried to force me to the last place I wanted to go, I would be dragging my feet too.
Hell.
Hell is where I’ll probably be taken against my will immediately upon my death for the shit I’ve done.
Instead of staring at her mouth while she eats or her lower body that’s still completely bare, I get to work moving the other bed in front of the door like usual to prevent her from leaving in the middle of the night, turn on the television, then kick off my shoes to sit down and relax after eight hours of driving. When we got to the hotel, my entire body felt stiff from concentrating on the road and watching out for other drivers for hours. Now, I’m light as a feather and could easily fall asleep any second.
By the time I’ve got the pillows propped up behind my back and am comfortable, I glance over just in time to watch as Hannah, who is finished eating apparently, pulls her tank top over her head, leaving her totally naked on the bed, looking like a gorgeous blonde goddess sent to Earth to seduce and destroy all of mankind.
“That’s better,” she says, rolling to her side so that she’s facing me in a sexy pose with her elbow bent, head resting in her palm, begging for my eyes to take in her perfect breasts, the curve of her hip, and long lean legs.
“Why do you act like this?” I find myself asking her.
“Act like what?”
“You know what I mean,” I tell her, propping my arms behind my head while I enjoy the view. Fuck it. If she didn’t want me to look, she would’ve kept her clothes on or got underneath the covers. “You don’t have to be so…provocative.”
“You mean slutty,” she replies.
“Provocative. Sexually aggressive.”
“I don’t understand why society encourages men to be sexually aggressive, but god forbid if a woman enjoys sex and pursues it. Everyone automatically labels her a slut.”
“You use sex as a weapon,” I point out. “Like earlier. It was your bargaining chip.”
“So? It worked, didn’t it?” she asks, not the least bit ashamed of her behavior.
“You’re a gorgeous girl, Hannah. Men would want you even if you kept your clothes on,” I tell her honestly.
“I don’t want to just be wanted. I want to be fucked,” she challenges.
“I don’t buy that.”
Her tongue wets her lips. “I’m not asking you to buy anything. It’s the truth. I’m not ashamed of enjoying sex and never will be. Just like you shouldn’t be ashamed of enjoying a little bondage.”
“I wish I didn’t. It’s demeaning and wrong,” I tell her.
“It’s not like you’re the only man or person in the world who gets off on it. Plenty of other people do too. I’m pretty sure there was a famous book made into a movie about BDSM.”
“I shouldn’t enjoy it, especially now that I know a woman who survived being kidnapped and brutally raped. It’s taken her months to try and heal…”
“It’s not the same. One is consensual and the other is not. You’ve kidnapped me, restrained me, and could’ve fucked me if you wanted to. There’s nothing I could’ve done to stop you. But you haven’t.”
I wanted to.
That fucked-up thought is loud and clear when it rings true in my head.
“Oh,” Hannah says, eyes widening in surprise like she just read my mind or my silence. “You may have wanted to, but you didn’t because you’re a decent guy deep down. It’s not your dick’s fault that I happen to be irresistible in restraints.”
The truth is, I think she could be irresistible in a potato sack. There’s just something about Hannah that screams naughty sex kitten. Or naughty sex lioness. She’s obviously experienced and not just a tease.
“We should both try and get some sleep,” I say since I want to put a stop to this topic of conversation.
“Fine,” Hannah huffs, sitting up in bed to peel back her covers and climb underneath. “Good night.”
“Night,” I reply, surprised that she’s being so cooperative.
After I turn off the television with the remote, leaving the room in darkness, I still keep an eye on her sleeping form as I take off my pants and shirt to get into bed in just my boxer briefs.
I toss and turn a little, having to fluff my pillow a few times before I finally get comfortable. I’ve just started to doze off when I hear the hotel refrigerator open, then the sounds of glass bottles clinking together.
“Fuck!” I exclaim. Scrambling out of bed, I run to the fridge in the dark. Hannah tries to make a mad dash for the bathroom, but I throw my arm around her waist, pressing her naked backside to the front of my barely clothed body while my other hand feels around for the liquor bottles. She fights much harder over the alcohol than she does the restraints, that’s for sure, elbowing me in the face, stomping my feet.
“I need these!” she exclaims as I take her down to the ground, using my weight on top of her back to pin her to the floor and rip the bottles from her tightly clenched fingers. One is empty; the other hasn’t been opened.
Once her hands are emptied, she stops fighting and lies limply on the hotel floor. “My entire body aches. You have no idea how much…”
So today’s sullen behavior, refusing to eat, wasn’t just her being stubborn. Hannah’s body is going through alcohol withdrawal. I read online that it could make her irritable, nauseous, have headaches and stomachaches, and make her an insomniac.
“It’ll get easier,” I promise her. Climbing off her back, I take the full bottle to the bathroom to twist the top open and pour it down the sink. With the light on in the bathroom, I can see Hannah’s still lying on the carpet. Now her nakedness just looks like vulnerability and not a professional-level seductress. How she became so dependent on alcohol before she can legally drink, I don’t fucking know. I blame Bob and any other older enablers who didn’t try and stop her but instead encouraged her to drink and act out. Why would he do that? To get her drunk so she’ll do whatever he wanted her to do? Whatever the reason, the fact is she has a problem and needs help. Which is why the chief wants me to get her ass home and to rehab. Guess that’s one thing the two of us can actually agree on.
“Come on,” I say when I go over and pick Hannah up off the floor. Then I carry her like a limp rag doll back to bed where I lay her down and cover her up. “Try and sleep.”
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“Sure you can. Just relax,” I tell her. “You seemed pretty relaxed earlier.”
“Orgasms and alcohol, those are the two things that I require to fall sleep every night.”
“The withdrawal can make it harder to sleep. Once you detox, I bet you’ll sleep great.”
“Then what?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what to do now, with my life.”
She sounds so defeated, and for whatever reason, I hate that she feels that way. No, I actually physically ache for her, like her unhappiness brings me down as well, as if the two are somehow interconnected. “You’ll figure it out. You’re only twenty,” I remind her. “It takes some people longer to know what they want to do.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“What is it that you do, other than kidnap women?”
I sit down on the side of her bed since she’s finally in a mood to talk after giving me the silent treatment the entire day. “The Savage Kings MC owns a Harley dealership. I manage it with my brother.”
“You ride motorcycles and you sell motorcycles?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? That’s your entire life?” she asks like she’s disappointed on my behalf. But I’m not.
“I think I have a great life all things considered – a decent job, a great family, good friends in the MC who I know will always have my back.”
Unless I fuck up so badly that they turn against me.
“That’s it? You have some friends, a family, and bikes?”
“That’s pretty much it, yeah. Guess it doesn’t sound very glamorous to you, but it’s a good fit for me.”
“I wish I had all of that,” Hannah says.
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“You have a family,” I remind her. “One that you decided to ignore.”
“It’s complicated,” she replies.
“What about friends? I’m sure you made some friends at college.”
“Nope, I didn’t live on campus for very long in San Francisco. And I didn’t get along with the rich girls I went to boarding school with,” she says. That is incredibly sad in a way, and explains why she spends time with guys like Bob.
“Your best bet is to focus on doing something you love, making friends with the people you work with who have the same interests as you. What did you want to go to college for? What was your dream job when you were in high school?”
Hannah sighs and then rolls to her side, turning away from me. “In high school I knew I wanted to be a teacher.”
“That’s a great field to go into. Never enough patient teachers. What ages would you teach?”
“Young kids, while they’re still sweet and innocent like pre-K or kindergarteners.”
“You can transfer your college credits to a school near home and get your teaching degree. That doesn’t sound too complicated.”
“It is, though, because I don’t think I can teach now.”
“Why not?”
“Because now whenever I see other people’s kids, they just make me sad.”
“Why is that?” I ask, confused about what could make her change her mind within a few years. When she doesn’t answer, I find myself making guesses aloud, needing to figure this big question mark about her out, to understand why she no longer wants a teaching career. I need to know her reasoning, like it’s the most important thing in the world – an unsolved mystery I have to dig further into. “Did something happen? Someone say you wouldn’t be a good teacher?” I don’t get a response from either of those questions, so I ask the only other one I can think of. “Can you not have kids of your own?”
“It’s not that I can’t have kids, it’s that I shouldn’t,” she answers softly.
“Why not?”
I hear her puff of nonhumorous laughter before Hannah says, “After spending the past few days with me, can you honestly say that you think I’m cut out to be a mother?”
