by Eva Charles
At first, it feels bigger, fatter than it is, but after a few torturous minutes, I begin to relax. I begin to forget all about the dirty, uncomfortable things, when it starts to feel good. Soon, it’s so good, I don’t even notice his hand leave my pussy.
“I’m going to fuck you here. One day soon,” he murmurs, twisting his finger out of my puckered hole.
My mind is blank, my body burning, while he adjusts the cuffs again, and turns me on my back. This time he leaves no slack in the binding. My legs are spread wide. I’m completely open to him. At his mercy. And there is nothing to tug on as he pushes my body to the peak. I’ll have to absorb all the sensation. All of it. I’m not sure if I can.
His mouth is on my skin, licking and nipping wherever he chooses. However he wants. Feasting on my body like it’s a grand buffet, set out for his pleasure. His tongue flicks my clit, once, twice, and the whimpering begins, and then the prattle of nonsense. I’m going to combust.
“I think it’s time to paint,” he says, in a sensuous voice that casts anxious tremors, even as it seduces.
“I can’t. Julian. It’s too much. I need to—I can’t.”
“Look at me.” His eyes are black, there’s not a sliver of blue left in them. “You can. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come soon. You need that, don’t you, darlin’? I’m going to make it so good for you. And you’re going to come all over my nice clean sheets. Like a dirty slut. Like my dirty, filthy slut. Only mine. Only for me.”
“Yes,” I whimper. Yes, yes, yes. “Please. I want to be your dirty slut. Only yours.”
I feel the brush slide down my belly and dip between my legs, swirling inside my wet cunt. He brings the bristles up and paints each nipple, before suckling the hard bead. “Delicious,” he murmurs. “So delicious.”
I tug on the restraints, but there’s nothing to pull on. Nothing to help me as he dips the brush into my greedy pussy again, and again, spreading the wet slipperiness everywhere. Nothing to pull on while he laps it up.
My body shakes. My mind numb. And the bristles are between my legs again. But this time he doesn’t pull them away. This time he sweeps them over my clit. Gentle at first. Slow and precise. But soon the assault is faster and harder. Harder and faster. And so delicious.
The angle of the bristles change. “Oh God! No!” He’s not going to let the little pearl hide. I’m trembling, but he doesn’t stop. With a firm hand, he coaxes it from under the hood with the insistent brush.
I scream, thousands of silent screams, while I try to writhe away from the evil bristles, but I’m bound too tight to move.
He tosses the brush aside, and clamps his lips over my clit, sucking and licking. Licking and sucking, until I surrender completely.
My head thrashes from side to side when he lets the orgasm come. The tremors, the bucking, and then a free fall through the gossamer shadows. I hear the shattering scream, years of pent-up frustration erupting from a million tiny pin pricks in my flesh.
I taste the tears. But I can’t feel them on my cheeks.
JD uncuffs me. Speaking quietly while he massages my stiff limbs. “You’re so damned beautiful—tied to my bed—coming apart on my tongue. I’ve waited a long time to have you.” He smooths the hair back off my face. “To taste your sweet pussy. It’s so sweet, Gabrielle. So sweet. I’ll never get enough of you.”
He kneels between my legs, and lowers his mouth, kissing away the tears. “You’re going to come again, baby. All over my cock this time.”
I’m not sure I can come, again—ever. But his cock stands erect, needy, and dark. And when it twitches, I feel the twinge between my legs.
His lips find mine in a scrumptious coupling, and I twine my arms tightly around his neck, not wanting it to ever end.
It’s much too soon when he pulls back, to hook my legs over his hips. The short distance between us, almost unbearable.
Then I feel it.
The tremor on my skin.
His hands shaking.
His control gone.
I know what’s coming.
He won’t ease inside me.
It won’t be gentle.
I squeeze my eyes shut, digging my fingers into his back as he fills me with one, long, agonizing thrust. The groan pushes up from my belly, and into my chest, making its way out into the charged air between us. He stills at the sound, still buried deep, and kisses my throat tenderly.
“Jesus Christ, Gabrielle. You’re so damn tight around my cock.” He ruts deeper, bringing his warm mouth back to mine. “I’ve missed this so much. For so long. Missed you every day.” His voice is crushed stone, mined from a fiery quarry deep within the earth. I’m already starting to climb.
He moves in a steady rhythm, long punishing lunges interspersed with shallow thrusts that let me catch my breath. My body is awake, every inch of flesh, every muscle, every nerve warbling. He peels the hair off my sweaty face, and sinks his teeth into my neck. I gasp for air. For sanity.
His hips pound me with long, ruthless strokes. Unyielding. Uncompromising. He wants it. “Now. Give it to me,” he growls.
I scream as he takes it. Fast and rough, with no pretense of kindness, he rips the twisting orgasm from my trembling body, leaving nothing behind.
It’s brutal.
I’m drowning.
Gasping for air.
Filling my lungs with short, uneven pants, simply to breathe.
The waves swell and surge, pulling me under, finally dragging me to where there is only bliss. Where there is only us.
I feel his muscles tighten in my hands, his frantic pace, his head fall to my breast. There is only the final savage thrust, and the primal roar, when he empties himself into my throbbing cunt.
After a few minutes, he kisses my forehead tenderly, so tenderly, and rolls off of me. As soon as he’s gone, I begin to shiver.
Without a word, he scoops the quilt from the floor and wraps himself around me, the covers pulled up over us. He rains soft kisses on my hair. The kind of gentle drizzle that doesn’t disturb the terrain, but makes it lush and fertile. “Every time,” he whispers, “every single time with you, it’s more than I could ever imagine. Every time.”
His arms engulf me in a safe harbor, and I sink into them, and surrender to sleep.
When he wakes me, there’s no time for a shower before I have to get back to the hotel. No time to process. No time to sort through shaky thoughts and feelings.
“I’m so late. I don’t think there’s time to wait for Antoine to get here.”
“Your security is waiting right outside. They’ll get you back to the hotel in time.”
“You already arranged security?” Of course you did.
“It took one phone call.”
I’m too tired to argue. Too sore. And too content to let this spoil my mood. Besides, I told him I’d try.
JD introduces me to Rafe and Gus. When I turn to say good night, he tells me, “I’m coming too.”
Great. I pull him aside, away from where Rafe and Gus can hear. “You can’t come to the hotel with me. People will know. My staff will know what we’ve been doing. People talk. Charleston’s a gossip-lover’s paradise. You know this.”
“You’re an adult. You’re allowed to have sex. With me, anyway,” he adds. “But no one will know what we were doing. Not unless you tell them.” He tips his head toward the big burly security guards. “I’m sure Rafe and Gus know their business, but I want to get a feel for how they are with you. I won’t hang around for long.”
“JD.” But I don’t argue because he’s shushing me with his mouth, and his tongue, and his teeth. I even lose sight of Rafe and Gus, who have discreetly turned their backs to us.
“JD.” I pull back, panting softly. “I really have to get back.”
He tucks a curl behind my ear and nods. His eyes are warm and focused. His face gorgeous and scruffy. The furrows and lines relaxed. I like him like this. Just like this. And it takes everything I have not to launch myself i
nto his arms and beg him to take me back to bed.
19
Julian
I’m on the side lawn at Sweetgrass, stretching before my morning run with Smith. But I can’t stop thinking about last night—wondering how many more nights I can squeeze in with Gabrielle before it’s over.
It was everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I dreamed about in the last fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years. But it wasn’t just the sex, although Jesus, that was pretty damn spectacular.
I see Smith winding down the lane, he’ll be here in a few minutes. I want to ask him what Rafe and Gus did to piss him off enough to get assigned to Gabrielle’s security detail. Poor bastards. She was polite last night, but she bristled whenever she noticed them loitering. And I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse for them. But I’ll have to talk to him about it later, because we don’t discuss business during our morning runs.
Smith’s not even breaking a sweat when he reaches me. “You ready?” he asks. It’s not a question, it’s a challenge.
“I’m ready. Been waitin’ for you to drag your sorry ass here.”
Smith and I have been good friends since boarding school. We each spent a year there before going on to Harvard, where we were roommates for all four years. We run at five-thirty, every weekday morning, and occasionally on the weekend. Rain, sleet, or snow, we never miss our run unless one of us is away.
“I can only do the five-mile route this morning,” I tell him. “I have an early meeting.”
“We’re not even out of the circle yet and you’re already bellyaching. You’re such a pussy.”
“I’m a pussy? You have on those stupid Redskins shorts, and you’re all over my shit?”
“My mother sent them to me. Take it up with her.”
“How is she?” I ask.
“Fine. Busting my father’s balls constantly now that he’s retired. But he deserves it, I’m sure. It’s her birthday in a couple of weeks. I’m going home for the party. Wanna come?”
“Wish I could.” Smith’s family is great, and I’ve spent a lot of time at his house over the years, especially during college, but I haven’t been back in a while. “It’s been crazy since the election. I’m swamped trying to get a read on Sayle.”
“Too bad. I could use your help. Meredith’s bringing a boyfriend home from school with her.”
“You’re kidding.” Smith has four sisters. All younger than him, but Meredith is the baby. “Who said she could date?”
“According to my father, my mother said it. I guess nineteen-year-old college girls are allowed to have boyfriends in some places. It’s criminal.”
I laugh, but it’s bittersweet. My sister Sera never grew old enough to have boyfriends. I rub the cramp in my side. “Your father must be losing it, thinking about her away at school hanging out with some guy.”
“He says it’s fine. Through gritted teeth.” Smith chuckles. “My mother hasn’t given him a choice.”
Smith’s father is a retired four-star general. He served as the head of the Joint Chiefs during the first term of the current administration. “Sorry I’m going to miss the fun. It’s been a long time since we laid a beatin’ on one of your sister’s boyfriends.”
“If you change your mind, my parents would love to have you—you’re like the son they never had.”
I laugh, because nothing could be farther from the truth. They couldn’t be prouder of Smith. Rightfully so. “What did you end up doing last night?”
“You mean who.”
“Let’s hear it,” I say, rounding the bend near the stable where my mother kept her horses when she was a girl.
“You’d like her. She’s your type. I’ll text you her number.”
“You’re done?”
“Oh yeah. As much as I’d like to go a few more rounds with her, she has the potential to be a stage-three clinger.”
“So you want to pass her off on me? Thanks.”
“I’m telling you, you’d like her. No gag reflex. She’s proud of it, too, likes to show it off.”
“I’m all set.”
“Really? Since when do you pass up a chick who thinks her mission in life is to give good head?”
“I have too much going on.”
“Too much going on, my ass. This is about Gabrielle Duval, isn’t it?” He shoves my arm when I don’t answer. “Huh?”
“Don’t be stupid.” It doesn’t come out convincing, but I don’t give a shit. What I do with Gabrielle isn’t up for discussion. Not even with Smith.
“Maybe I should tell her she doesn’t have to cut off your balls, because you’re about to hand them over to her.”
“Fuck you.”
“We can get her a nice little case for them, and I do mean little, so she can keep them in her purse.”
He just played me. He knows I don’t say shit about Gabrielle. So instead of asking me about her directly, he took the sneaky way around. That’s what I would have done, too. But he’s still an asshole. “There was no woman without a gag reflex last night, was there?”
“Only in my dreams.”
As I weave through traffic on my way to my meeting, the phone rings. My father. I haven’t had enough coffee yet to deal with the sonofabitch. “Yeah.”
“Good morning, JD. How’s my business doing without me at the helm?” He wants something. I can already tell from his tone.
“It’s just fine. Better than ever. I was planning on calling you later. What is it you want so early in the morning?”
“Not only am I your father, but I’m your president, and I expect you to speak to me with a little more respect.”
You’ll get all the respect you deserve—not a fucking ounce. “It’s early. I haven’t had enough coffee to be human yet.”
“Maybe you should start keeping more reasonable hours and laying off the booze. I’ve entrusted you with a lot of responsibility.”
When it comes to people telling me how to run my life, I don’t have a lot of patience. But when it’s my father telling me how to be a more productive member of society, I want to murder him. “What was it you said you wanted?” The question comes out as rude as I hoped. He clears his throat, all pissed off. I can practically smell the toxic fumes coming from the other end of the line. Best thing that’s happened so far today. I tug on my seat belt a bit, and lean back in my seat, waiting to hear the bullshit du jour.
“I have a reporter hounding me,” my father says. “She wants to do a feature on Zack. A human interest story. She’ll need some photos, too.”
“What?” I bark, slamming my brakes when the traffic light turns from yellow to red.
“I think it would be a nice thing. Provide some support to families caring for children with brain injuries. She’ll be respectful of Zack’s privacy. And yours, too.”
“There is no fucking way any reporter is coming anywhere near Zack. Not while I’m still breathing.”
“He’s my son.”
A lot of damn good it did him. “You don’t have custody. Legal or physical. You don’t get to make any decisions.”
“Listen—”
“No. I am not having this discussion with you, or with anyone. It’s over. And if you don’t have anything else to talk about, I’ve got to go.”
“JD, wait. I’m just asking you to consider it. It could be good for everyone.”
DW doesn’t do a damn thing unless it’s good for him. Nothing. “It could be good for you. That’s what you mean.”
“I would really like it to happen.”
“I would really like to have breakfast with my mother on Mother’s Day. I would really like to torment Sera’s boyfriends. And what I would really, really like, is for you to leave Gabrielle Duval alone. But none of that’s going to happen, is it? Not in this lifetime, anyway.”
“No one misses your mother and Sera more than me.” He’s lucky my fist can’t reach his jaw. “And as for Gabrielle Duval, she’s not on my radar. I have a fucking country to run for Christ’s sake.
”
“So you’re not the one who paid someone to steal her keys, or had the air deflated from her tires?”
“I don’t play children’s games.” Bullshit. “If I had her in my sights, believe me, you’d know about it.”
Stealing keys and letting the air out of tires is bush league, even for him, JD. He prefers messing with brakes and filming underage girls getting off.
“I asked you nicely, because technically you are Zack’s temporary custodian, but I would rethink my position on the feature story if I were you.”
“You’ll have to kill me first. And there’s not a fucking thing that’s temporary or technical about the custody decree.”
“I would also learn to be more respectful, if I were you. And more afraid.”
“Afraid you’ll have someone kill me? Nah. Only so many of your family members can die before people start snooping around and asking questions. And you never know what a tenacious reporter might uncover if she starts digging. You can’t afford that kind of scrutiny.”
The call ends without a single civilized word. If that asshole thinks he’s coming anywhere near Zack, or Gabrielle for that matter—
Get a grip, JD. Sweetgrass is more secure than Fort Knox, and thankfully, Gabrielle’s agreed to security.
I let things get out of control with him today. Let him push my buttons like I’m a fucking puppet and he’s the puppeteer. I know better than to allow it. It can’t happen again. Not if I want to make him pay.
What kind of man commands respect by telling another man, I’m your father, or I’m the president? If you have to ask for it, you don’t deserve it, and you ain’t never gettin’ it.
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. A fucking human interest story. With pictures. My head is seconds from exploding all over the car. It wouldn’t surprise me if he gave the damn woman my address.
I call Smith to give him a heads-up that a reporter might show up with some bullshit story about Zack, and then sit in the parking lot at Sayle Pharmaceuticals trying to calm the fuck down before I go inside for meetings.