Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  But Marlowe clearly consented. Not asking. Not waiting to see what I would demand of her next, she took hold of my cock at the base and ran the tip of her tongue in a circle along the tip.

  “Careful,” I warned. “I don’t allow teasing.”

  “I don’t tease,” she said as she lowered her mouth over my cock in one long movement.

  I groaned as her lips tightened around me as she practically swallowed me whole. My dick pressed deep against the back of her throat. I was not a small man, so the fact that she could almost take all of me showed her true desire to please. Up and down, she bobbed her head as she sucked my dick like she hungered for it. Like she needed it as much as I did. She wanted to do this. She wanted to hear my groans, my sounds of pleasure. A true submissive. She wanted to please me, and worship my cock. And fuck, did she ever. I could cum so easily. I could fill her mouth and she would swallow every last drop, or I could pull out and spray my completion all over her perky breasts, and she would no doubt moan in surrendered delight as I did so. I knew this about her. I could read it in how she moaned and hummed around my cock as she ran her tongue in delightful circles while pushing and pulling the cum right out of me.

  But it was too soon. Too soon to cross over to that level of the dynamic.

  No, first she had to take hold of my hand and enter the darkness. She was distracting. It was her way of running away, but I wouldn’t allow it. I would catch her.

  I tightened the belt and pulled back, causing her to gasp around my cock that rested heavily in her mouth. I tugged again, and she whimpered as she pulled her lips away from their seductive hold. She wasn’t done. She didn’t want to end. But I had to. I had to stay focused. I almost went over that damn cliff.

  “Not yet,” I said as I picked her up underneath her arms and brought her toward the top of the bed.

  Her raven hair splayed out across the gray pillows as the candlelight danced shadows over her milky skin. It reminded me of a storm brewing with the grays and blacks and just a touch of light peeking through the clouds.

  Fucking stunning.

  I unfastened the belt around her neck, ready to move on to what I had in store next. I moved to the nightstand that the candles burned on and opened the drawer. I knew the tools I required for tonight’s play in the dark. They were all in that drawer.

  “Roll over onto your belly,” I directed as I pulled each item I needed out and lined it all up for easy reach. “Face in the pillow. I don’t want you to see what comes next.”

  I could hear her compliance by the sounds of her movements. I loved that she didn’t question or resist in any way. She really was making it easier than I had expected. Though I loved the hunt, I appreciated this so much more. I understood and valued what a true submissive could give. It was a gift she was offering to me, and I would gladly accept it.

  My cock still demanded attention, but I ignored it the best I could as I positioned my body next to hers, admiring the roundness of her bare ass with nothing but the thin strap of her panties showing before me. Taking hold of an antique dagger I had pulled out of the drawer, I lifted the strap of her panties and sliced them right off her with the sharp edge of the knife.

  She gasped, but said nothing.

  I loved her silence, but she would only be able to remain silent for so long. She would be pleading soon. Begging. Making my cock grow with the smell of her fear. This was just the beginning. Only the beginning.

  I tossed the knife to the side, knowing damn well that I would be using it again… soon. Snapping the lid open of the bottle of lube I reached for next, I coated my fingers in generous amounts. I saw the cheeks of her ass constrict as she no doubt recognized the sound of lube being opened and knew what that would mean. Marlowe may have been breathing easy again since the belt had been removed, but I was about to steal her breath even more than before.

  Without warning, I brought my slick index finger to the puckered entrance of her anus and pressed in. She tightened around my finger and her entire body tensed, but she did not resist. She whimpered and clenched the bedspread, but allowed me to move my finger in and out as I coated her hole with the lube. Adding a second finger, she cried out, but I continued on with coating every inch and stretching her tight little hole. She tried to wiggle free from my invasion which I rewarded with a swift spank to her helpless ass. She was mine. Mine.

  Her gasp, followed by a deep moan, revealed that she did indeed like the bite of pain with her pleasure. What a true gem she was.

  “You’re going to thank me for the time I’m taking to prepare this ass of yours,” I said, rubbing the pink mark I had just caused with the slap, which had her moaning even more.

  I didn’t need any further proof that she was enjoying the preparation and even the quick discipline warning, but I still wanted to see for myself. As I pumped my two fingers into her anus, I used my other hand to rub along the silken folds of her pussy. She was wet. So fucking wet. But I’d already known she would be.

  “Harley,” she said on a whisper as I rubbed my finger along her pussy, petting her for good behavior. I liked my women wet and desperate for my touch, and for my dick to be shoved inside of them in whichever way I chose.

  I was strict, but I rewarded as well.

  She parted her thighs, silently begging for more. I reached down a little further under the weight of her hips and found her clit. The minute I did, she bucked against my hand, driving my fingers even deeper into her ass. She cried out, as I clearly stretched her even more, but she only bucked again, driving my fingers even further inside. Her arousal helped aid me in preparing her ass for what was to come, so I rewarded her again by circling her clit in sensuous movements again and again.

  Moan after moan, her juices coated my hand. This vixen was mine. I had her. The balance of control had been set.

  Pulling my fingers out of her ass, as well as off her clit, I was pleased to hear a sigh of disappointment escape Marlowe’s lips. But her short reprieve would be just that—short.

  I reached for the nightstand and pulled off my next tool for the night. An anal hook. By appearance, this tool would make anyone afraid, and that was exactly the point.

  “Open your eyes,” I said, when I noticed Marlowe had her eyes closed. There was a sweet look of contentment and satisfaction on her face, but I was ready to change that.

  She followed my command and gasped with wide eyes when she saw what I held before her.

  “What is that?” she asked with a squeak to her voice.

  “Never seen an anal hook before?”

  She licked her lips and swallowed hard. The steel, the size, the shape, and the large ball at the end, meant to be rooted in her ass, was definitely ominous. I didn’t blame her for her fear. An oversized fishing hook tool in the hand of a Dom would frighten any woman wise enough to know what that would mean.

  I took a chain and attached it to a leather collar I planned on placing around her neck. The leather was wide, almost as wide as my hand. Much thicker and firmer than the belt I had choked her with before. Too tight with this collar, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. But that control would be completely in her hands. Completely.

  “I don’t understand,” she said softly. “What is the purpose of that? What do you plan on doing?”

  I inhaled deeply. Fuck yeah. She was afraid. Nervous, but definitely afraid.

  “You’ll soon see,” I answered as I coated the end of the hook with the lubrication.

  Not waiting for permission, because that was not the type of man I was, I placed the tip of the hook with the rounded ball at her anus and pushed in. It slid in as a loud husky moan filled the air of the room. Marlowe instantly tensed, but relaxed the minute the hook was fully seated into the depths of her ass. She clearly knew. Resistance would only make it worse.

  I then grabbed the collar and leaned up toward her neck. Such an elegant neck it was. I suddenly wanted to kiss a trail along the angles of her shoulder, her collarbone, her earlobe… the cliff. The fuck
ing cliff. Kissing was for couples. We were not a fucking couple. I had to once again focus on not falling off that damn cliff.

  Taking a handful of her hair instead, I leaned down and whispered, “Ready to say RED yet?”

  “Never,” she squeaked.

  Releasing her hair, I fastened the leather collar around her neck, securing it snugly. I took the silver chain that hung loosely from a ring in the leather and fastened it to the anal hook. In doing so, it forced Marlowe’s head back. She had no choice but to arch her back and bend backwards.

  She had two choices.

  Lean forward to ease up on the choking.

  Lean back to ease up on the pressure of the hook in her ass.

  It truly was a lose-lose situation.

  And if she struggled, if she fought, if she didn’t focus on finding the perfect balance where she could still breathe, and still bear the pain of the hook in her stretched bottom hole, she would definitely be screaming RED.

  But not Marlowe Masters.

  Not her.

  I could see how she rocked and moved her body ever so slightly to find that balance. She calmly searched for a position to be comfortable. She took long even breaths when she could. She adjusted her hips to help with the pressure of the hook. She never cried out for help. She didn’t panic. She didn’t beg.

  No.

  She adapted. She met the darkness head on.

  I’d underestimated her. Marlowe Masters—unlike any woman I had ever met—clearly understood how to dance in the darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  Marlowe

  A vision so dark, I watched myself drift away.

  To the edge…

  I couldn’t breathe, yet I could.

  I panicked, yet I remained calm.

  I ran from the monster of fear, yet I faced him head on.

  To the edge…

  Harley Crow guided me to the edge.

  I rested my head on his shoulder of black and accepted.

  He was my dark. He was my light.

  He can’t see me, but I see him.

  I hear him, I smell him, I taste him, I feel him.

  The senses of sin.

  To the edge.

  “Breathe,” I heard him say, pulling me away from the dark abyss.

  Inhaling, I did as he commanded. The light returned.

  “Can you breathe?” he asked as he traced his fingertips along the design of my tattoo.

  I wasn’t sure if I had enough air to speak. I could breathe, but the struggle to do so was ever present as the leather of the collar constricted my ability to fill my lungs as I normally would.

  Harley pressed my head forward which tugged at the hook in my ass. Doing so, however, gave me all the air I needed to say, “Yes.” I took a long, refreshing breath that soothed my burning lungs. “Yes, sir.”

  “If you allow that hook to stretch that tight little hole of yours more, then you can breathe so much easier. It’s a balance of control. A wicked game of give and take.”

  His fingertips left my back and traced their way along the curve of my ass, and dipped to my sex.

  A bolt of electricity surged through me when he went even further and thrust his finger into my pussy that so desperately wanted any type of invasion whatsoever. It hungered for the attention.

  “Fear makes you wet,” he said as he thrust his finger in and out of me.

  “No.”

  “Your body disagrees.”

  “You make me wet,” I unashamedly admitted.

  He added a second finger and continued with his thrusting. It was no longer the collar or the anal hook stealing my breath. Harley had the power all by himself.

  “Do I scare you?” he asked as he reached for a candle and brought it toward me.

  “No,” I whispered, focusing on trying to remain as still as possible. As long as I didn’t move too far in one direction or the other, I could breathe, and I didn’t cause too much discomfort to my penetrated ass.

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that same devilish smirk that always sent a delightful shiver through me.

  “Not yet,” he said as he held the candle over my shoulder, “but soon.”

  Tilting the burning flame slightly, Harley dripped the red wax onto my shoulder. Tiny droplets of red wax ran along my skin and dripped down my back and over my collarbone. He continued to pour the wax along my back, swiping from side to side across my body, leaving a stream of hot liquid behind. The candle wax burned for an instant as it connected with my skin, but then quickly dissipated as it hardened. I couldn’t flinch, because the slightest move restricted my breathing or applied pressure in my asshole that would restrict my breathing in its own torturous way.

  “Red to add to the black ink of your tree,” Harley said as I felt wax drip along the outline of the tattoo.

  My body ached from the intense arch I was forced to hold, as well as the agonizing need to feel another part of me filled. My pussy pulsated in hunger. I had never craved as badly as I did right now. There was absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. I was at his mercy in every possible way.

  Placing the candle on the table, Harley reached for a knife. I assumed it was the same one he’d used to cut my panties off of me earlier. He brought the tip of the blade to where he’d first poured the wax on my shoulder, and slowly scraped the red from my flesh.

  So sharp.

  So deadly.

  So close.

  A killer. Harley Crow was a known killer, and he held a blade inches from my throat.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked as he scraped the metal along my flesh, removing the wax from my sensitive skin as he did so.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  I was fucking terrified. Knives, death, killing, torture. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

  “RED?”

  “No.” Why? Why wouldn’t I stop this?

  The blade dipped down along my collarbone, forcing me to stay as still as I could. The tip of the dagger edged its way along the path of the wax, scratching off the candle drippings, but leaving a trail of sensory overload in its wake.

  “No?” he asked as he continued to drag the blade over my back, side to side, down my spine, along my ribs, like he had just done with the wax.

  Every time the tip of the knife ran over a bump of my spine, chills blended with the heat of my growing need. I pictured red lines of barely-there cuts as well as remnants of wax crisscrossing my back as if I had been whipped for my indiscretions. Marks of my darkness, signs of my need for exactly this kind of sex. This was everything I needed and wanted. Harley knew exactly how to make my body sing a forbidden melody.

  So wrong.

  So right.

  So perfectly us.

  I screamed when he hit the blade of the knife against the steel of the anal hook. The vibrating impact rippled through me. It lit every nerve inside my core. It hurt so good. Being the sadist I knew he could be, he did it again and again. My scream turned to moans of delightful agony. Agony to have my torture end by Harley fucking me as hard as he could in whatever hole of my body he chose.

  “RED?” he asked again as if teasing me to scream the word as loudly as I could against the restricting collar that squeezed all the spare breath I possessed.

  He was pushing my limits. He wanted to see how far I would go. I would go as far as he took me.

  “No,” I repeated.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Yes, but only so you will—”

  He tapped the hook again, causing me to cry out in intoxicating pain.

  “So I will? What? Fuck you?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled in the sexiest, yet most maniacal of ways. “You’ve done so well,” he praised as he tapped the hook one last time before slowly removing it from where it had held me captive. “But there is still time for me to have you screaming out the word RED. And I will. I promise you, I will.”

  I sighed as I allowed my head to collapse to the pill
ow beneath me. My neck burned from the stretch, as did my tiny bottom hole. I heard the heavy clank of metal hit the floor as Harley took hold of the chain and then the collar. Effortlessly, he unfastened the constricting collar and flipped me over so I was lying flat on my back. He towered over me with eyes so dark, so cryptic.

  Harley wasn’t done. I could see that. His thirst was far from quenched.

  Harley

  Her smell. Intoxicating.

  Fear, arousal, and need dripped from her pussy, and she conquered my senses. I wanted to feast from her. I needed it like I needed air.

  I placed my fingers on her inner thighs and spread her wide. I noticed scars. Thin and faint, but obviously painful scars. Lines of a blade over and over. Old cuts from deep wounds.

  Tracing my fingers over the remnants of the pain, I asked, “You cut yourself?”

  “I did,” she said softly, trying to close her legs in shame, which I refused to let happen by holding her open to examine each inch of her damaged skin. “Not anymore.”

  “Do you have scars on your heart as well?”

  “Not yet.”

  Feeling the uncontrollable need to touch, to taste the remnants of a deep pain of hers, I ran the tip of my tongue along each jagged line of a sad tale. Marlowe tensed, but didn’t try to fight me. Her breaths grew deep as if I were soothing a part of her soul with each gentle lick.

  Not being able to resist the need to feast on her any longer, I lowered my face closer to her cunt, which glistened back at me, and inhaled as deeply as I could. Her thighs tried to snap shut, but I held them in place, breathing in again before I licked at the moisture I could see lining her pink lips. Her body tensed, but the sexual whimper I heard above me revealed I was giving her exactly what she wanted. But I didn’t care what she wanted. It was about what I wanted. And I wanted her. I wanted to taste every inch of this wet pussy. I wanted it all. It was mine.