Even as my eyes flared wide in surprise, his tongue moved like it had when he’d been kissing me, only he was flicking it against my clit.
And Cruz knew what to do with it once he found it.
Even better, his hands, his fucking hands, stayed on the bed.
“Oh my God,” I shrieked, unable to bear what he was doing to me. It felt so good, so fucking powerful that I reared up, unable to take it, then, the sensations died and he didn’t force me down, so, tentatively, I lowered myself again only for him to suck on my clit so hard I was seeing those stars once more.
I ground my pussy into his face, riding him hard, knowing that I was making his jaw wet—actually fucking wet—and I just, dear God, I enjoyed it.
I fucking loved it.
It felt so… Jesus, good wasn’t the word.
Phenomenal.
The flames weren’t just in my core, they were flickering higher, moving into my vision, into my heart, into my chest, taking over my hands, sinking into my feet. Where they touched, tingles of sensation burst into being, and suddenly…
Blankness.
Dark.
Only, it was filled with light too.
And it felt like pinpricks against my skin, and that moment of joy when the first spoon of ice cream connected with your tongue.
Then there was how it felt like a wave was drawing me into the ocean, sinking me into the tide.
Until I was drowning, and choking, and dying, and death had never felt so good.
Distantly, I heard my scream, but even that wasn’t enough to jolt me from whatever this was.
And his tongue didn’t stop.
He carried on, until I was dying again, and only then, did his hands touch my ass, and he maneuvered my limp body onto the sheets. Somehow, he lifted them so my legs were covered in them, and I let him because when he left, I could always move them off me, then I heard the rattle of his buckle and fly, and disappointment began to drift into that dazed sense of wellness that had overtaken me.
He’d want sex now.
It was only fair after he gave me that.
An orgasm.
I’d just…
Jesus, fuck.
I’d come.
I’d actually fucking come.
I fell asleep, my body splayed and broken and warm and loaded with fading delight, and I didn’t realize until the next morning, when I woke up, and the sheets were by my feet because I’d pushed them off, that he’d spent the night with me.
That he’d spent the night with me while I slept.
And I hadn’t woken up once.
Why had I managed to fall asleep with him?
Butterflies didn’t just flitter around my belly, they gnawed at my insides. Sleep was a precious commodity for me, and somehow he’d given me that.
He’d given me so much more than any other man had.
Maybe I should be joyful, but instead, it made me pensive.
Men couldn’t be trusted. Cruz was no different.
Cruz
A week later
As she ground her pussy into my face, I grinned. I loved when she did that. I fucking loved it. I wanted to cup her ass, tilt her into me, but I’d noticed that first night that my touching her did something.
Maybe another guy would have carried on regardless, but fucking a corpse wasn’t my thing. Sure, they called me the Grim Reaper around the MC, but that wasn’t because I was into necro-goddamn-philia.
She’d been still, and lifeless, that heat of before, her arousal of earlier gone like I’d doused her in ice water.
It was surreal. Weird. I’d pulled out, uncomfortable with how things had turned out, but she hadn’t wanted me to go. Then, she’d kissed me, and somehow, she’d been turned on again.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit that if it wasn’t her, I’d probably think it was too much hassle. That she was too much work, but even though my dick was aching like a bastard, it wasn’t a problem.
She’d had her first orgasm with me, I knew that like I knew my face in the mirror, and I knew, even more, that she was orgasm-drunk, high on the experience and, as a result, me.
She loved what I gave her.
And I loved giving it to her.
Her moan reminded me of what I was doing, and I went to work, giving her what she needed, giving her what she didn’t know she craved, until she screamed, loud enough to make my cock pound harder. When she came, usually I got her off again, but this time, it was different.
She was different.
After a week of going down on her, I expected her to roll off and sleep like she usually did, but she didn’t. She moved off me, then crawled down the bed. At first, I thought she was going to suck me off—she’d tried to do that before, and the first time, it’d felt like a token BJ so I’d told her not to do it again—then, she straddled my hips even as she grabbed my cock.
I always wore my jeans when this went down, only unfastening my fly when I felt sure the imprint of the zipper was going to be permanently etched into my cock, but though she was dripping, the second I was inside her, I felt it.
That fucking disconnect.
It was jarring as fuck for me, so I didn’t know how it was for her.
Something changed, like the click of a switch, shifting from ‘on’ to ‘off’ and I didn’t know why, but I always sensed when that happened.
When her reactions turned from natural and responsive to mechanical, before morphing into passive then, quite frankly, onto dead.
She bounced on top of me, her eyes glassy. Both from the orgasm of before, but also because she was switched off. The sight had my arousal dying, and I’d admit, I got angry.
I was turned on like fuck. I ached for her. Literally ached. And for whatever dumb fuck reason, I hadn’t blown my wad in a willing clubwhore, even though I knew I was making a liar of myself because she’d turned me into a masochist.
So the sight of her bouncing on top of me like a sex doll infuriated me.
I knew she was into this. I knew she was, so I did something I regretted the second I did it.
I slapped her ass, hard, and ground out, “Enough, Indy.”
The spank had her freezing, but she tipped her head down at me, and even as I expected her to give me shit—well-deserved too, because that hadn’t been a little love tap, it had to sting like a bitch—she licked her lips.
Jesus, this woman.
She liked it. She liked the spank.
At that moment, she shoved me toward a pivotal crossroads.
She wasn’t going to change. Couldn’t change, in fact. How could she change what had been set in stone since she was a kid?
The way she went through the motions of sex told me this was some kind of coping mechanism, but I didn’t get why, even as smart as I fucking was, and that was the most tragic thing of all because I’d never seen a more beautiful, more sensual woman in my life.
She was glorious when she came. So surprised and shocked and overwhelmed and joyous that I got drunk on her. But… shit, there was always a but.
This wasn’t going to work forever. Hell, maybe not even another week.
She liked the spank though.
I saw it with my own eyes.
Testing the hypothesis like the good scientist I was, I did it again.
Just as hard.
Her pussy clenched around me.
Fuck.
She did like it.
Jesus.
I’d told myself I’d stop with this shit, because the games in S and M were just too fucking complicated and, in the past, in all honesty, I’d been a crappy Dom, but, Christ, how could I back away when she seemed to like it? And I fucking liked her?
Two spanks did not a sub make, however, so I carried on. Pummeling her ass with the flat of my hand in time to the movement of her hips.
Her eyes weren’t glassy anymore, her cheeks were flushed with heat, and her skin was dewy with perspiration and exertion. Shaky breaths escaped her, and her pussy fluttered around me, drenching me in h
er juices, coating me in her arousal.
Needing more affirmative proof, I reared up which had her jumping in surprise, not enough to prompt that disconnect though, and I grabbed her hair, furling the tail around my fist before I yanked her head back.
Hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough for her to slap me.
Her pussy clenched around me so hard I didn’t know how I didn’t blow my load.
Her nails made an appearance in my shoulders as she dug her fingers into them, and she began grinding into me even as I tilted her throat back and went for the final experiment.
I suckled the tender flesh, priming the skin, readying her for something she couldn’t have anticipated. With a final tug on her hair, I moved in for the kill.
I bit her.
Hard.
She screamed.
At first, I thought she was telling me to fuck off, to get off her, but she wasn’t.
She was climaxing.
I’d never felt anything more magnificent in my fucking life. I roared with her as the pulsating pussy that was like manna from the Gods drew my own orgasm out of me. I felt like I came and I came and I fucking came, understanding that whole, ‘I came, I saw, I conquered,’ shit for the first time in my life because triumph surged through my veins at the same time as my orgasm did.
But nothing compared to the sound of her sobbing out her release, of the tension in her body as she experienced the first penetrative orgasm of her life.
She needed pain.
It was enough to ground me.
Remind me of what I hadn’t wanted for a long time.
I didn’t like that she needed it, and wished otherwise for her, but I also didn’t like that I could feel the craving in her to be normal.
Some people, myself included, were born to never be normal.
Another issue was her problem with being touched. Aftercare in a scene was vital, so that was another hurdle to face but, and it was a massive but, she was worth it.
God help me, was she worth it.
I didn’t know why, what it was about her sass, that heartbreak in her eyes, the face that’d launch a thousand ships, but she just was.
I slumped back in bed, my brain racing as fast as my heart, and I’d admit to being surprised when she slouched on me.
I didn’t touch her, not like I wanted to. Didn’t kiss her or caress her back, hug her like I needed to. Instead, I just got my breath back, and even though my thoughts were heavy ones, I somehow fell asleep. Her on top of me was what I needed, it seemed, to get some rest.
But tonight wasn’t like the other nights. She didn’t sleep the night through, resting even past me leaving her bed and her apartment, at least, from what she’d told me.
Her whimpers, pained and scared, stirred me, and I woke up, just in time to hear that fucker’s name on her lips.
It killed me that this had been a trigger, and I might have walked away, knowing I wasn't strong enough to deal with this, to be what she needed, but she woke up and threw herself across the bed like I was poison before screaming, “Get out, Cruz. Get the fuck out.”
I never did well with orders. Apart from with the council. It was the Dom in me, a trait that hadn’t died even if my taste in the lifestyle had. I didn’t like being told what to do, and I certainly didn’t like it when I knew why.
She wanted to cry.
Alone.
In peace.
My jaw worked at the thought, and I knew I couldn’t do it.
Not just tonight, but any fucking night.
I couldn’t leave her to her nightmares. Couldn’t leave her to that fucker.
If I didn’t do something, if I didn’t help, she’d be forever tangled in that cunt’s web, and while my dick wasn’t magical and didn’t cure everything, I just…
Fuck, she needed this.
But more, she needed to trust me.
So I got out of bed.
I picked up my boots.
I headed for the living room.
Then, I moved over to the sofa and I lay flat out on it, wincing at its size which wasn’t enough for my length, as I grabbed the throw over it and tucked it around myself.
“What are you doing?”
I heard her voice in the darkness, heard the thickness of her tears, heard the anger and the emotions that were out of control, knew she was raging inside, and knew I could help her control that fury, channel it where it needed to be released.
“I’m going to sleep.”
“No, you’re not,” she snapped, irritation overtaking her sadness. “I want you to leave.”
“Tough shit. I’m not going anywhere,” I rumbled, making my voice sleepy even though I was anything but.
I was wide awake.
I had to be.
I was about to fight for us.
For her.
Even if she didn’t understand that.
“Get out, Cruz. Get the fuck out.”
Was I surprised when she came at me like a wildcat?
No.
Her nails stung like a bitch though, and her slaps were hard and fierce, but even though I let her burn herself out for a minute or so—going to high school a couple of years early primed anyone for a beating—I was quick to grab her wrists, drag them behind her back, and then, questioning myself all the while, I forced her onto her knees.
She hissed at me, spitting at me and the globule of saliva landed on my pec. I’d expected worse, a bite, hard enough to draw blood, so I wasn’t angry, but she couldn’t know that.
Any doubts disappeared.
And I knew this was right.
What she needed.
What I needed because, somehow, I needed her. Crazy, messed up, fucked up, screwed up, all of that. I needed Indiana goddamn Sisson.
So I gave her me.
After slapping her ass, I grabbed her hair again, pulling it hard enough to jerk her head back. My eyes were on hers all the while, even though the darkness shielded us both, and I growled out, “Clean it up.” Then I forced her face toward the saliva that was dripping down my chest.
At first, I wasn't sure she’d obey, thought she’d bite me, then, I felt the flat of her tongue against my skin, and even as I gritted my teeth at the sensation, I let her carry on. Moving further down until it was all cleaned up.
Then, when she was done, I hauled her up, higher so that she was leaning into me, no longer on her knees, and dragged her over me so that she covered me. She started struggling, but I held her tight, drawing one of my thighs over hers, binding her in place, and in her ear, I rasped, “You want to cry? You cry. You want to scream? You scream. You want to rail at the fucking world? You rail at the fucking world. But you do it in front of me. All of it. I want it all.”
She tensed, then muttered thickly, “Fuck you, Cruz. Fuck off. I don’t want you.”
“Bullshit. Your pussy juices are still around my mouth, Indy. You want me as much as I want you.” A hiss escaped her, but her struggles slowed.
“Now, go to sleep.”
“What?! I can’t—”
I growled, “Go. To. Fucking. Sleep.”
This time, the hiss morphed into a shocked breath, and I knew her thoughts were scattered to the wind. I tugged on her hair once before I let go of it, and then I relinquished my grasp on her wrists, prepared for her to dive off and run for the bed. But she didn’t.
Nor did she relax.
She lay there, her breathing heavy, panting like she’d run a race, until finally she wasn’t.
Until, finally, I recognized the hard truth—she’d obeyed.
She’d fallen asleep.
“Hypothesis proved,” I whispered to myself, knowing, full well now, that I could give her what she craved.
Me, and only me.
And even if it took a fucking lifetime to make her see that, unless Lodestar decided to kill me—which she hadn’t attempted to do thus far—I intended on giving her that.
All of me.
But only if she gave me all of her
in return.
Four
Indy
A week later
The shadows on the wall moved.
That might not mean anything to anyone else, but in the deep of night, when everyone was asleep, nothing should have moved at all. Especially not when Nyx was with Caleb. The black Labrador was always glued to his side, had been ever since my baby brother had been born. We figured it was down to Nyx being hyperaware of how ill Caleb had been since he was a baby. Whenever his health was bad, Nyx was there. Like glue.
But with our dog tucked away, fast asleep on my brother’s bed, the shadows definitely shouldn’t have been moving.
There was no light outside, no light in the house.
It was too late at night for that.
But the door still swept open.
And my heart began to pound.
A couple months ago, I’d never have been awake at this time. But now? I knew to fear the dark. I knew to fear what the stillness of my home represented.
Opportunity.
I gulped when the floorboards squeaked as the door swept back, closing, and my bottom lip trembled when the faintest noises echoed around the growing silence.
The soft steps moved in time to the rush of blood in my ears and I huddled even tighter in my ‘Hello, Kitty’ comforter, wanting this to be a nightmare, but knowing it wasn’t.
The bed jostled as he took a seat at the side of me.
His smell was so strong. Like nothing I’d ever forget.
A strange pine scent that reminded me of the forest but that I knew came from his aftershave. That odd smell that my eldest brother stank of after gym class, and that he called B.O. There was a tang of sweat, too, and it seemed to overwhelm the flowery essence that my mom washed my comforter in.
His hand went to my hip and he murmured, “Hey there, Indy. Did you miss me?”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. “U-Uncle Kevin, I only just saw you at dinner.”
“Well, that’s a long time ago,” he teased, and his hand traced over my chest and up to my hair. As his fingers tangled with the dark strands, he murmured, “And it’s been at least four weeks since I was last here. I’ve been without my best girl since then.” He tugged on my hair. Gently. “Were you good?” He stopped tugging, tucked the lock behind my ear before he tenderly flicked my earlobe.
Cruz : A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 5) Page 5