Vonna Harper

by His Slave

  Despite the gentle way he ran his fingertips over her thighs, she sensed tension in him. She’d feel the same way if he had both hands on her sex, or would she? Maybe not because she knew what he was capable of, his self-restraint and consideration for her limits. She wanted to demonstrate the same consideration, but until she knew him better ...

  “Is the mystery surrounding you deliberate?” she asked. Letting go with one hand, she cradled his weight in her palm. “This isn’t part of a scene, is it? I’m seeing the real you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” So much for floating. Now she was awake, aware, maybe alarmed.

  “I don’t know what you’re seeing, so I can’t answer.”

  She relaxed a little and might have accomplished more if his hands had stilled. Instead, he was creating sweet friction on her thighs.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know what I’m seeing either,” she admitted.

  “You aren’t making sense.”

  “Who are you? Where did you come from, how did you get here, and what do you want your future to be like?”

  “You want to know all that now?”

  He was right. Shouldn’t she be focusing on getting to the point of intercourse?

  Intercourse. Not simply fucking.

  “Not now,” she conceded. “But later, hopefully.” With that, she licked the top of his cock. Her lips went numb, then hummed. “You taste so good.”

  His only response was a long, low sigh that brought her head up and had her straining to see into the dark.

  “I’m serious.” She made her point by drawing his tip into her mouth and closing her lips around satin flesh. The floating sensation returned. Holding him, she thought of little. In her mind, they lay side by side on summer-heated sand while gentle waves rocked their united bodies. After awhile the scene changed. Now they stood on a hilltop, arm in arm and naked, looking down at the rest of the world.

  “Cheyenne?”

  Responding to the tug on her hair as much as her name, she let him go, leaving her saliva on him. “What?”

  “I’m not used to this.”

  “To what?”

  “Just being held. Before we go any further, I have to put on protection.”

  Alone while he dug into his pants’ pocket, she pondered what he’d said and why the rubber was in his clothes instead of his nightstand. The possibilities added yet more layers to this secretive man. But as much as she craved answers, she wouldn’t push.

  “Wait,” she said as he tore the wrapper. “I want to ... you know.”

  Sliding off the bed for the second time since coming in here, she held out her hand. After too long, he placed the rubber in her palm. She could have accomplished the task standing, but not sure her legs would hold out, she knelt. The urge to house him in her mouth again nearly overwhelmed her.

  Wondering at this side to a man accustomed to controlling women, she unrolled the condom over his cock. That done, she stood, not touching him as she did. Not knowing what to do next, she folded her hands together. “Ah, do you have a favorite position?”

  Sighing another of those fascinating sighs of his, he ran his hands down her arms. Shivering, she rocked toward him.

  “I do,” he said. “At least I did before tonight.”

  “What makes this different?”

  “You.”

  If a single word had ever carried more emotion, she couldn’t remember. The scant space between their bodies filled with their shared essence, warm and waiting.

  “I love hearing that,” she admitted.

  Running his hands down her forearms to her wrists, Mace drew her arms behind her. Emotion left over from their bondage session weakened her, and when he walked her backward to the bed, she scooted onto it. Still holding on to her hands, he leaned over her, his chest pushing her off balance.

  “I should have left the lights on,” he said. “There’s not much coming from the bathroom.”

  “I don’t care.”

  His breath heated her face. She loved having him as her blanket, loved that she trusted him. Although her cunt was alive with need, she willed it to be patient.

  One moment her arms were behind her, the next, he pulled them out to the sides and pushed her back. Her head hit the mattress. Gripping her waist, he hauled her further onto the bed until her knees were against the mattress.

  Reaching up, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled. If he’d wanted, he could have easily resisted. Instead, he came down on top of her with his upper body braced on his elbows. His cock pressed against her belly, weight and heat seeming to penetrate her.

  “Not like this. Mace, please, I need you inside me.”

  “Already?”

  Yes! she wanted to shout. Touch my sex. You’ll have your answer.

  Leaving the admission to rattle around in her, she wrapped her legs around his buttocks.

  “You’re getting ahead of me.” He sounded out of breath. “Unless your belly’s going to do the fucking.”

  “Then do what needs doing.”

  She’d begun to relax her hold on him when he forced the issue by turning her in a quarter circle so her entire body fit on the bed. Content with the missionary position, she opened herself up to him, knees splayed and hips lifted.

  He moved into her, slow and smooth, strong and ready. Inch by inch her pussy filled. When he was there, deep and strong, she again wrapped her legs around him and pressed her heels into his buttocks. Her hands found his shoulders and arms, caressed.

  Body straining, he drew back only to come at her once more, withdrew, probed. Her nails dug at him. The pace of his thrusts quickened, rocking her, taking her. Mouth open and head to the side, she tightened her inner muscles around him and fought to match him strength for strength.

  “You’re making ... this hard.”

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to relax, but her body had a mind of its own and needs that would be fulfilled.

  “Just let me—”

  “Do it, damn it!” She scratched his shoulders. “Oh, shit, do it!”

  Growling, he drove into her. She was so wet. He slid freely in her, his cock gloriously stroking the weeping tissues. Her belly clenched. When it began relaxing, she tightened it, crying out at the sensation. Her pussy quieted, waited.

  Mace pounded at her, his breathing harsh and painful sounding. Listening to him, she envied his lack of restraint. Then, without warning, she was doing the same, sobbing and gasping while raking his shoulders. Her pussy closed down on him, let up, held on. Sweat drenched them. His arms trembled; strain roped his body.

  “Yes!” she encouraged, digging her heels into his buttocks. “Yes! Ride me.”

  If he heard, he let the stupid comment pass. No wonder. Pounding her took his full concentration and all his energy. Her explosion was there, running just under the surface. Somehow she locked on to what he must be experiencing, his release only a breath or thrust away.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted.

  He responded with a series of harsh grunts. Surely Rio heard.

  “It’s all right, all right,” she said, concerned Mace might injure his throat. The grunts continued; his taut body seemed on the brink of shattering. Wanting to share in his climax, she arched off the mattress and flattened her breasts against his chest, clutching his shoulders as she did.

  He strained to bear both their weights, then collapsed, trapping her under him. As the air left her lungs, he rolled over, taking her with him. Now his back was against the sheet, their bodies still together. Resting on top of him, she nibbled his collarbone.

  “Shit, woman, shit.”

  She responded by licking where she’d nibbled, chuckling low when he shuddered. He shuddered again, a shiver really that said he couldn’t take much more. Planting her hands first against the bed and then his chest, she carefully sat up. She was in control, on top, his cock trapped inside her. Mindful that she could injure him, she kept her body still while contracting and relaxing her
vaginal muscles. Head off the bed, he splayed his hands over her thighs. Reaching behind her with one hand, she stroked his inner thigh.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

  Heat ran between her breasts. For the first time in their relationship, she was on top and in control. Granted, he could easily change that. Instead, his hands remained gentle, as he lowered his head. He started breathing again.

  “So good,” she whispered. “This feels incredible.”

  Letting her muscles relax, she leaned forward a little. That done, she leaned back until she risked losing her balance. As his cock came with her, she thought of him as her prisoner, helpless like she’d been earlier.

  “Ah, shit.”

  “What is it, Mace? Not used to having the tables turned?”

  “Something ... like that.”

  Sitting straight again, she lifted herself off him, muscles clenched as she did. His hands abandoned her thighs, waited somewhere in the dark. Then it was time to sink down again and relish the increasing sense of fullness as she swallowed him. She rocked forward, then back, paused, started again. Her cheeks burned, and she panted. Fireflies seemed to have attached themselves to every part of her, miniature feet and wings brushing sensitive skin.

  He lightly struck her right breast, the contact quick and exciting.

  “Oh, yes, yes!”

  He slapped her again, her left breast this time. Laughing, she scratched his chest. Thinking to punish him further, she held on to his cock with all her strength and lifted off. She would pull him, stretch him until he begged.

  Then his fingers were on her clit, and she lost control. Whimpering and hissing at the same time, she sank onto him. His fingers pressed, circled, stroked her.

  Wait! Not yet.

  Desperate to hold back, she struggled to focus on him. But it was too late. Shuddering, she rolled into her release. It hit hard and violent, scraping every inch of her. She couldn’t stop screaming.

  Whether she came once or a series of times was unimportant. Her weightless body danced and her cunt let go, flooding him. Wet heat clung to her inner thighs. The smell of sex seeped into her.

  After what seemed like a long time, she began gathering herself together only to cast the effort aside. Mace was shuddering with his back arched and hands gripping her hips. Even with the condom between them, the rush of his offering thrilled her. Smiling, laughing almost, she rode his explosion with him. His cries spoke of a man out of control, lost even.

  It’s all right. I’ll protect you.

  From what?

  25

  Cheyenne lay beside him with her head on his shoulder and a leg draped over his. Hearing Rio stir, Mace wondered if the dog had been in the room the whole time, but mostly he concentrated on Cheyenne’s quieting breaths. He didn’t want to talk, and he certainly didn’t want to think. Sleep tugged at him.

  They’d both been shaking when they untangled themselves. Removing the ruined rubber, she set it aside. Then, and this was what had undone him as much as coming, she’d licked the remaining discharge off his fading cock. Her chore completed, she’d stretched out on her side where her breath dampened his skin. He thought about stroking her inner thighs to remind her of what she’d done, but it might start something.

  “It’s been an incredible night,” she whispered. “The most incredible of my life.”

  “Hmm,” was the best he could give her.

  “I know. You want to sleep. Me, too, only my mind’s whirling. Maybe...”

  “What?” He had to force himself to speak.

  “I’m not sure I want things to make sense right now.” She kissed his shoulder. “That’s the plus side to being drunk. Logic doesn’t matter. There’s no making decisions.”

  When she didn’t explain further, he relaxed. His body had been stripped bare. It felt empty and formless, same as his mind. Strangely, he loved being in this place.

  “Mace?”

  “What?”

  “Have you ever had a woman in this bed?”

  Evade. Change the subject. Something. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Going by the sounds the dog was making, Mace surmised Rio was trying to curl into a ball. Between that and Cheyenne’s sweat-stained body against his, he had no other existence.

  “I prefer to separate myself from my work,” he came up with.

  “Turning women on the way you do isn’t work. It’s an art, a skill. You must have them lined up at the door.”

  Maybe, only none knew where he lived.

  The need for sleep faded, leaving him clear-minded. Why had he erected this barrier between himself and women, and why was Cheyenne the exception?

  “You can tell me,” she said. “I won’t be jealous of your harem, not much.”

  “There’s no harem.”

  “Right.” She sighed. “Fuck them and leave them’s your style? Damn, I’m sorry I said that. It’s just that you bring out a lot in me I wasn’t aware of.”

  I understand.

  “I want to know more about you.” Her voice was small and vulnerable. “I have no right. I realize that, but ...”

  “What?”

  “I’m sensing holes in you. Holes and walls. Something’s missing, maybe something you were denied at a critical time in your life. It happened to me, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “At least you had family, people who wanted you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  More than I should. “You were adopted. I never got that far.”

  “Your parents abandoned you? Did they lose custody?”

  Laying her head on his shoulder, she stroked his chest. Hopefully she knew not to venture lower.

  Do it. Just get it out. “Yeah.”

  “How old were you?”

  “A baby.”

  “My God. What’s your first memory?”

  “Being in a room with several other boys. Some were crying. A few had blankets over their heads. I kept trying to open the door, but it was locked.”

  “How, ah, how old were you then?”

  She spoke so softly he could barely make out the words. Hopefully she understood he didn’t want sympathy. “I’m not sure. Three or four. I eventually got my hands on the file Children’s Services kept on me, so I know it was a group home. Eventually it was closed down.”

  “Because you and the other boys were being warehoused instead of lovingly raised?”

  “That wasn’t in the file.”

  “That’s how you put your early years together, by reading a file?”

  “Pretty much. It’s not like I had parents to tell me.”

  “Oh, Mace. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Easier said than done,” she said after a long silence. “When I was researching my article on parental influence, I talked to a couple of psychiatrists. They said children often block out the negative. It’s a way of protecting ourselves.”

  “I wasn’t very good at that.”

  “You have a lot of memories?”

  “More than I wish I did,” he told her when he’d been certain he’d keep that to himself his entire life. Maybe having just shot his wad was responsible for the opening floodgates, but he suspected Cheyenne herself had more to do with it. “You’re not the only one to change your name. I had mine changed a couple of times—by people who started to adopt me only to let the state take me back. Kind of like a store’s return policy.”

  She again kissed his shoulder, the contact lingering and involving her tongue. When she lowered her head, he felt something hot. Tears? He’d yet to see her cry despite circumstances that did most women in.

  “You weren’t ever adopted?”

  “No, social workers told me I had to trust and open up if I wanted that to happen. To quote you, easier said than done.”

  “Trust and honesty don’t come easily to someone who’s been kicked in the teeth enough times.”

  She’d walked much the same
road as he had. She knew what it felt like, so why hold back? “I decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”

  “You’re talking about the emotional risk, aren’t you? Taking someone’s name meant being expected to become part of them.”

  “And choosing my own said I knew who I was.”

  “Why Mace?”

  “I liked it.”

  “Just like I like Cheyenne.”

  Grateful for the light turn in the conversation, he nodded. Then because he couldn’t think of a reason not to, he told her about stealing a car at fifteen and getting caught, which led to a juvenile record and being sent to the second group home of his childhood, this one for delinquents. He might have used that time to hone his lawbreaking skills from his fellow inmates if he hadn’t been such a loner.

  “I had a hell of a chip on my shoulder,” he admitted.

  “Is it still there?” She nibbled the spot under discussion.

  “Hopefully not. Going through life on the defensive’s a hell of a way to be.”

  “It’s also protective. It got to where no matter what my folks said, I’d argue the point. I couldn’t believe they had my best interests in mind because they’d never bothered to ask my opinion.

  “They’d say you were hardheaded?”

  “And ungrateful. We play at being civilized, but it’s a lot of work.”

  “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

  “It is what it is, and I’ll be there when and if they need help.” She was silent a moment. “I’m trying to put myself in your position, growing up the way you did.”

  This was a good time to stop. He’d already bled more than he’d ever thought he would. “I know their names,” he admitted. “And some of the details of what happened when I was six months old.”

  “I’d like to hear about it if you feel like it.”

  He didn’t and yet he did. Beyond his comprehension, he needed to open up as never before.

  Eyes closed and opened by turn, he handed her everything he’d learned from stealing his thick Children’s Services file. It had been winter and night when police had spotted him crying in the backseat of a car with expired tags. The car was parked a block from a bar where his unmarried parents had been drinking. According to the bartender, they’d been there for several hours, arguing. He’d told them he was going kick them out if they didn’t quiet down, only to have Mace’s father jump him, which led to the police being called. There’d been no mention of a child.