Wicked Angel

by Sawyer Bennett

  Snaps click into place, and the swish of leather into buckles sounds. I also hear him.

  His heavy breathing gets more labored as he binds me into the harness. What I wouldn’t give right now to feel how hard he is…

  “There,” he murmurs, and it’s a word of completion filled with satisfaction. There’s admiration in his tone for how I must look right now.

  Helpless and at his mercy.

  I can hear him—no, feel him—as he steps in closer to me, and I’m stunned when his lips brush softly across mine. For some reason, I didn’t think kissing would be part of our rendezvous tonight, but just as quickly, he’s gone once again. A waft of air floats across my body as he steps away, and I strain to listen.

  There’s a click, then I’m being hoisted ever so slowly into the air. I go to my tiptoes, but then my feet are off the ground. Strips of leather support me under my ass as well as across my upper back, keeping me from flipping upside down. He’d secured my hands together at the wrist, then locked them onto what feels like a bar above my head.

  Another click and a whirring of gears, and I’m stunned as the numerous straps tied from my upper thighs down to my ankles start to pull my legs apart obscenely.

  I go up, up, up and still… the movements pull my legs farther apart, stretching them to capacity.

  Another click and I stop, swaying gently back and forth.

  I’m surprisingly comfortable except for the fact he’s splayed me open. I can’t stop the flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks.

  In the utter silence, I start to quiver in a mixture of fear and anticipation. Is pain coming? Pleasure?

  Nothing prepares me for the utter warmth that covers my pussy. It takes me a moment to realize his mouth is on me, his intent to destroy me orally. I have no clue how high I am, nor how his body is positioned, but he seems to be in absolute control as he holds nothing back.

  His arms come underneath me, grabbing onto the straps just under my butt to prevent the harness from swaying. Holding me in place and using the leverage of my immobility, he plunges his tongue deep inside of me. He groans—either in satisfaction over the way I taste, that I’m completely helpless and at his mercy, or both.

  The pleasure is so intense I start gasping and moaning. He licks and fucks me with his tongue. His teeth bite gently before he sucks hard on my clit. He is relentless in this pleasurable torture, and I come exquisitely hard after only a few moments, the force of the orgasm tearing through me and causing me to shriek.

  He doesn’t stop, though. Just voraciously attacks me with his mouth again. He brings a hand to my pussy, plunging his fingers in. One, two, and sometimes even three. I am so wet, and he’s drawing reactions from my body I’ve never given to anyone else.

  A finger slides across sensitive skin to my ass before probing gently. Just as he lashes at my clit with his powerful tongue, he presses his long finger into my most forbidden place.

  As I wail from the sensations, another orgasm hits me hard as he continues to eat me. Powerful ripples of ecstasy rocket through my body, making me delirious.

  Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, running along my temples, and I imagine them splashing to the floor.

  Damn that feels so good. I want to stay lost in this moment forever.

  It barely penetrates but what sounds like a remote control clicks, then I can feel the contraption lowering me. As I drop downward, his mouth stays locked onto my wet flesh and he continues to pleasure my over-sensitized flesh with his tongue.

  Another click.

  His mouth is gone, and he rotates me. Flips me. My stomach rolls slightly even though the machine moves at a snail’s pace. I think I might be facing the floor now, but I’m not sure.

  After another click, the straps start tightening to draw my legs slightly inward again.

  I’m startled when I feel my knees press into the cool tile floor, then my torso with my arms stretched out in front of me. I turn my face, pressing my cheek onto the smooth floor.

  The harness stops moving and before I know it, I can feel him kneeling at my backside as he uses his hands to push my legs slightly apart. He tips my ass into the air, then his hands are on my buttocks.

  I groan when I feel the fat head of his cock pressing into my pussy. He grips me by the hips hard as he plunges in so deeply it makes me cry out.

  It could be minutes or hours. All I know is he relentlessly pummels me from behind, and it’s the best thing I have ever felt in my life. Bound in leather, held helplessly to the floor, and impaled on this mysterious man’s erection, I know there is something special between us.

  A third orgasm starts brewing deep inside, and the man sounds like an animal with his grunts and groans as he fucks me so hard my teeth are rattling.

  I explode once again in pleasure, feeling my inner muscles locking tight and he feels it, too.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he growls in praise as he plants himself deep inside of me.

  Like he did the first night, he roars out his satisfaction as he unloads inside of me, his fingers digging so deep into my ass muscles there will be bruises tomorrow. Something about his release is so animalistic it connects to something deep inside I’ve never shared before.

  I want to bring out the animal in this man. Revel in it.

  He collapses onto me, his torso pressing into my back. At this point, I realize he’s still fully clothed as his hips continue to rock into me while he pants slightly from the exertion.

  I feel him shift, then his lips are at my jaw. He doesn’t kiss me, but I can feel his whiskers rubbing against my skin in an almost affectionate way.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he murmurs through the haze of waning lust.

  I’m still panting, feeling the remaining tremors of my own orgasm pulse through me. “What’s that?”

  “Let me buy you a thirty-day membership here,” he says, and I cannot deny the pull of the seductiveness in his tone. “Give me exclusivity for thirty days. Be at my beck and call whenever I want.”

  And that’s it. His offer. Fuck him exclusively for thirty days here at The Wicked Horse. Whenever he wants.

  I don’t need to think about it. Sure, it will be hard since I work long hours and live in Henderson, but it doesn’t matter. “Okay,” I quickly reply before he can change his mind.

  “Okay.” He exhales on what sounds to be a relieved sigh, and it makes me smile.

  “I’m Elena by the way,” I say.

  “Benjamin,” he murmurs.

  CHAPTER 7

  Benjamin

  I walk out of the surgical room, peeling off my gloves with a snap before I toss them in the medical refuse bin followed by my scrub cap. I give a quick wash to my hands, tossing my head left and then right to pop the bones in my cervical spine. Normally a twelve-hour surgery to remove an acoustic neuroma would leave me exhausted, but while my body is feeling a slight fatigue, I’m feeling strangely fresh and rejuvenated.

  It has nothing to do with the surgery I just successfully performed, but rather the fact I’m meeting Elena in approximately three hours at The Wicked Horse.

  It’s been five days since I last saw her and my need for her has grown exponentially as each day has passed. When I made my offer of the thirty-day club membership and exclusivity between us, I had imagined having her every single night. This week turned into a cluster fuck between our two schedules. Both of us work long days, which extend into early evenings. One night, Elena had a family function she had to attend. Two nights, I had to fill in for Brandon on call as he was sick. Another night, Elena had a flat tire and it was too far to drive into Vegas from Henderson on the spare.

  I’m exhausted right now, and I know she wouldn’t hold it against me if I canceled. But my need for her has grown to an almost painful one, and I don’t care if I have to crawl to the club… I’m going to have her tonight to make up for the days we missed—more than once I’m sure.

  “Great job in there,” Melissa Corbin says as she comes out of the oper
ating room. She was the anesthetist for my surgery today.

  Lifting my chin in acknowledgment, I give her a short smile. Her eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight. I haven’t bestowed many smiles over the past year, and it bothers me that it shocks her.

  Turning to my left, I toss the used paper towels in the garbage and head out of the scrub room, nabbing my cane, which I’d left by the door since I don’t need it in the surgical room with me. Sometimes, I perform standing, other times sitting on a stool, but always with the ability to lean against something.

  I barely make it through the scrub room door before I come up short, face to face with my partner Brandon. His face is grim. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” I ask defensively, because let’s face it… lately any time Brandon has tried to talk to me, it’s been because I’ve fucked up.

  “Peter Harlan’s family has sued you and the medical practice, which includes me.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing my beard with worry.

  “Let’s go to my office,” Brandon suggests, and I have no choice but to follow him. Medical malpractice isn’t a discussion to have in the open hallways.

  We maneuver through the hospital, then into an underground tunnel that leads to an office building next door. It houses several medical practices, but I head to the fourth floor where our neurosurgery offices are located. The entire journey, which takes almost five minutes, is completed in silence. I don’t use the time to figure out how to defend myself, but rather think about Elena and how I’ll get to forget about this when I’m inside of her later tonight.

  Images of her in that harness flash before me. My mouth waters as I remember her taste. My groin tightens as I remember the soft feel of her around me, and I experience an almost unmitigated sense of jubilation over seeing her tonight by the time we make it to Brandon’s office.

  He motions to the guest chairs and I take one, putting my cane across my thighs. Brandon doesn’t move behind his desk. He just leans against it with his arms crossed.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong during that surgery,” I say adamantly, because it’s obvious he wants me to defend my actions. “You saw the records. The test results. That man’s brain was beyond saving, and I’m not going to pay for something that wasn’t my fault.”

  Brandon bends forward slightly to bring his face a bit closer to mine. “It is your fault, Benjamin. You treated that family poorly, and it pissed them off. That’s why they sued. It’s your fault we’re in this predicament, no matter how the surgery turned out.”

  His defense of them infuriates me. He’s not taking my side as a partner and best friend should, which pisses me off even more.

  I rise from my chair, lowering the end of the cane to the floor to lean against it. “No, they sued us because they feel guilty they couldn’t control that drunk son of a bitch. They knew what he was. Sat by while he got DWI after DWI. They enabled him. It’s as much his family’s fault as anyone’s.”

  The anger leaves Brandon’s face, and he gives a long sigh of resignation. “You don’t know that,” he murmurs.

  “Don’t I? You should know just how true that can be.”

  Brandon shakes his head. “Not everyone is like Marcus Pettigrew. You’ve got to learn to put that aside. Stop judging everyone—”

  “Or what?” I demand.

  Brandon stands up, his height equal to mine and we are now eye to eye. “Or we can’t practice together anymore. You’re putting my family and me at risk, Benjamin. And I just can’t allow that.”

  His words hit me hard. Right in the center of my chest, which constricts in guilt. It’s the same exact feeling I had when I’d learned April and Cassidy died in the automobile accident. I had such tremendous guilt I had lived, and they hadn’t. And here I am, putting everything important to Brandon at risk.

  And, in a way, he’s right. I tend to judge everything based on my experiences since that drunk driver, Marcus Pettigrew, crossed the centerline and hit our vehicle head-on.

  Taking everything good and beautiful and important to me away in an instant.

  Now, every drunk is the same as him. Every person with flaws isn’t worthy of my skills. I have no leniency, and I judge harshly.

  It’s all coming down on me now, though.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly… genuinely. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

  Brandon blinks in surprise, his mouth falling open. “You never apologize for anything. At least, not since the accident.”

  This is true. I’ve pretty much been a withdrawn asshole to my friends and family since the accident. I give a slight shrug. “Well, I am sorry for causing you problems. I’ll handle this with the ethics board. You have my word. And you know my work on that man was solid, and there was nothing I could do to save him. You know it, Brandon. But I promise I’ll make amends. I’ll even apologize to the family for my behavior. This lawsuit won’t go anywhere.”

  My friend—former best friend, perhaps, since I haven’t been particularly good to him lately—raises a skeptical brow. “Who are you and what have you done with Benjamin?”

  My smile is thin. I know he’s trying to get me to show some spark of positive emotion, but some of my pain is too thick to penetrate all the way. All I can offer him is, “You know I don’t do anything to intentionally hurt anyone.”

  Brandon sighs and nods. “I know. Doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt people all the same.”

  There is no arguing with that. I’ve pretty much alienated Brandon—my parents and my brother, too. They are the closest people to me in this world. In my fucked-up mind, I won’t suffer when I eventually lose them if I can manage to keep them at arm’s length. They are smart enough to realize that’s why I’ve withdrawn. Even though they’ve been respectful of my needs and given me the space I’ve demanded over the past year, they’ve suffered over it, too.

  With a slight cough, Brandon gives me a resolute expression. “I’d like to go over the lawsuit tonight so we can meet with our attorneys tomorrow. Come up with a game plan. Let’s go grab a late dinner to discuss it.”

  Overwhelming disappointment floods me. The asshole in me—the one who has become quite dismissive of everyone’s feelings except my own over the past year—wants to tell him to go to hell. I’ve got a hot date with a siren at a sex club. But I’m also warring with the guilt over the trouble my rash actions have caused Brandon.

  Rubbing at the nape of my neck in frustration, I finally nod. “Let me grab my things from my office, then I’ll meet you in the parking garage.”

  Brandon lifts his chin in acknowledgment before turning to gather files from his desk.

  I move toward the door, but he stops me. “Hey, Benjamin?”

  Planting my cane into the floor for balance, I twist to look at him.

  “Don’t forget the charity benefit for the children’s hospital tomorrow night,” he says pointedly. “Dr. Metzer is chairing it.”

  Dr. Metzer.

  Head of the ethics committee. The man who will determine my fate over the way I dealt with the Harlan family.

  Damn it.

  “It would be a tremendous help if you went,” Brandon reasons. “Act sociable. And sane. Show him you were just having a bad moment instead of a bad year.”

  A low growl of annoyance and frustration leaves me, particularly because he’s right. And I owe him.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “Good man,” Brandon says with a grin.

  I head to my office, which is just two doors down from Brandon’s. I grab my backpack, which I use to carry my laptop and other electronics. Fishing my cell phone out, I pull up The Wicked Horse fantasy app.

  Regretfully, I type out a message to Elena.

  I’m sorry, but I need to cancel tonight for work reasons.

  After I hit send, another idea occurs to me.

  But would you be interested in attending a charity gala with me tomorrow night?

  She would at least make the evening more enjoyable. Wh
ile I’m not keen on conversation these days, I’m genuinely curious about her.

  Afterward, we could make the night worth it by hitting the club.

  CHAPTER 8

  Elena

  “That dress looks fabulous on you,” Jorie exclaims as she claps her hands.

  Examining myself in the full-length mirror in Jorie’s master bathroom, I have to agree. I look stunning. It’s an off-the-shoulder, A-line cocktail dress in a pinkish-gold with a paint-splatter design in black along the hem. Far more elegant than anything I have ever owned or could afford. Luckily, my bestie is married to a man who needs a fashionably attired woman on his arm, so her wardrobe is brimming with beautiful dresses, and oh… we wear the same size.

  When I told Jorie I’d been invited to a charity gala “by a man I’d met online” and needed her help, she was beyond excited. She is so brimming with happiness over her own newfound love she wants the same for me. Wants me to find my own personal happiness, get married, and have babies we can raise together. Any time there’s a whiff I might have a date or an interest in a man, she gets over-excited.

  Which is why I still haven’t told her about Benjamin, which is obviously weighing heavily on my conscience. More so because Jorie is indeed pregnant. After letting her husband in on the secret, I was the one and only other person she shared the information with. She had told me there was no way she was going to wait until the end of her first trimester like many people do before letting her best friend in on the singularly most happy event of her life.

  And yet, I still can’t bring myself to tell her about the mysterious man who I have had two mind-blowing, carnal experiences with. Part of me is afraid I am going to jinx it with him if I let anyone in on this. I simply can’t let myself give credence to something so powerful—that could potentially have the power to change me in a fundamental way. Until I can get a handle on exactly what this is, I have resolved to tread carefully and quietly.

  I let Jorie put some finishing touches on my makeup while she chatters on about being pregnant. She has an appointment with her obstetrician next week for a formal pregnancy test, so she can get started on her prenatal care.