Breaking Out

by Lydia Michaels

  Like a child with a stick, she poked the impressive beast, anxious to see what he would do. “My lover will be here soon, any minute! And you won’t touch me. He’s very protective of me and when he sees what you planned to do, he’ll make you regret ever contemplating putting your hands on me.”

  Harsh laughter filled the quiet space between them. The puff of his warm breath against her cheek told her how close he was, yet he was no longer touching her. She wanted to lean forward and press into him, but held herself still, rigid and proud.

  His laugh abruptly stopped and the sudden silence had her catching her breath. All calm slowly tingled away, replaced with the slight tickling of unease at the nape of her neck. Perhaps it was her blindness, but more than likely it was the absence of his touch.

  Something shifted and reality wavered. How did he do that, shift the energy of an entire room? Her breath quickened as anxiety pressed into her thoughts. Rationalization of her situation became a blurry mirage in her mind slipping through her grip.

  “Lucian?”

  “He’s not here. Just me. Me and you.”

  She stiffened as his cool finger trailed over the crest of her cheek, past her ear, and down her neck. He had somehow transformed his touch, disguised it. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. It was him, yet it wasn’t. How had he suddenly made her apprehension so real? She knew if she wanted to stop they would. All she had to do was say her safe word, but she didn’t even want to think it in that electrified moment where she stood poised on the cusp of dark need.

  Like the slight static of a balloon lifting the soft hairs on an arm, she felt him ease closer. Her lungs held as his breath echoed in the shell of her ear. In. Out. In. Out. She was glad one of them was breathing.

  Like a top tightened on a string, he suddenly said the one word that threw everything into motion. His lips pressed over the soft curve of her ear and he whispered, “Run!”

  Evelyn didn’t think. She only reacted, knowing she might seriously hurt herself being unable to see, she shrugged her coat back over her shoulders, held her hands out in front of her and bolted. It didn’t matter anyway. He caught her before she barely had a chance to move.

  She struggled against him and he subdued her every attempt to break free of his hold. The great thing about Lucian being so unbreakable was he never had a problem with playing rough. She made the trek to the bedroom as difficult as possible for him, catching her flailing feet on furniture and biting him through his dress shirt. She’d earned a few swats on her ass along the way, but it was worth it. She loved the adrenaline rush of rough housing with her lover.

  Her body landed on the cool, plush bedding and bounced with the impact. Hurried fingers attacked the snap of her jeans, and as they were yanked below her knees she twisted to her stomach and hastily crawled away. Like a manacle, fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked her back to him.

  Her heart raced as he laughed at her pathetic attempt. “That’s it. Fight me. There’s no escaping what I plan to do to you.”

  They tussled, but he kept a constant hold on her limbs. She loved that she could play rough with him. Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she wriggled under the strong body pinning her. She panted and pushed against him. Every time he reinforced his hold on her, her arousal doubled.

  Once her legs were bare, her coat was roughly stripped away. Her hair had come undone from its clip and strands clung to her lips as she panted. His weight settled over her hips as he pressed her wrists into the pillows above her head. Warm breath coasted against the skewed collar of her blouse. The warmth of his tongue suddenly scorched the tender flesh of her throat as he licked a hot trail to her rapidly throbbing pulse.

  “Are you planning on fighting me the entire way?” he whispered, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. She loved when he spoke to her like that, dragging his mouth over her flesh, as though drawing away for a few words was simply too much to bear.

  Heat pulled low in her belly, tightening her loins as a wave of euphoric need settled over her, clouding her judgment, banishing all common sense. She pressed into his hold, trying to break free and growing intensely aroused at the fact that, no matter how she tried, he had her outmaneuvered.

  “I won’t let you have me,” she hissed, pursing her lips to disguise her smile.

  His weight lifted off her abdomen for a split second as he transferred her wrists into one hand. As he settled back over her, cool satin banded her hands, leaving her palms kissing and her fingers with their long, manicured nails useless. The air of the bedroom cut away, replaced with the heady sent of him leaning over her. The soft, sensual fabric became a new experience in her darkened state.

  The awkward bondage left her to discover how sweaty her palms had grown. Once she was sufficiently restrained she felt him ease back. She imagined his arrogant expression as he evaluated his work. She tugged, but the satin was clearly tied to something else, leaving her stretched helplessly beneath him.

  The sudden shredding sound of fabric rent the air. Buttons popped and pinged around the room. Her nipples tightened beneath the lace cups of her bra. Her blouse, now a useless rag, was yanked open. Exposed and vulnerable, she squirmed. He had her pinned, plucked, and poised for his pleasure.

  His touch, when it came, was reserved. Although he was taking what he wanted, he was caressing her like a stranger who had never seen her exposed before. It seemed almost reverent. The raw lust that traveled from his fingertip to her chilled flesh as it slid over the slight swell of her heaving breasts was foreign.

  She knew he was doing this to mess with her head. He wanted her to fully experience the fantasy, view him as a stranger and feel the rush of fear colliding with the unknown. What a mind fuck, to take pleasure from someone she should be fighting off. It was a wicked game, this fantasy.

  He explored her exposed flesh like a trespasser. Perhaps she should feel a pang of disgrace for finding it so titillating. Maybe another person would be ashamed, but this man above her had tutored her in all things sexual and as far as softer couplings went, she preferred him always taking her to that darker edge. Maybe she was a deviant too.

  “Your lover is very lucky.” His voice was hoarse, quiet. His touch grew bolder.

  Her breasts plumped as he used both hands to create slack in the lace connecting the cups of her bra. A quick snap and tear and the support was pushed aside, leaving her breasts naked. The heat of his palms engulfed her flesh, squeezing, drawing a moan from deep within her.

  He stilled. “Surely you are not aroused by a stranger touching you?” He played the game so well, always drawing a touch of psychology into sex, never allowing it to simply be a physical act. Her emotions only ran high where this man was concerned. In a way, he had programmed her to react so, conditioned her.

  Regardless of her grasp on reality, his words made her cheeks burn. He was no stranger, but he also wasn’t her Lucian in that moment. Fear that he might confuse the fantasy with reality skated through her mind. Was he fishing for reassurance?

  “Only you . . .” she whispered.

  He didn’t comment, but the press of his forehead to her abdomen, the soft tickle of his dark hair on the underside of her breasts, proved he took stock in her words. He would never openly admit to having insecurities. No, they were for mere mortals and Lucian likened himself to the gods. She hid her smirk, loving that he only showed his more human side to her.

  He scooted back and as his weight lifted off her hips her panties were peeled away. Her thighs were wrenched wide. She gasped and he tsked. An impersonal finger swept down her slit. “You’re soaking wet,” he remarked in a chastising tone. More heat rushed to her face.

  The bed dipped and she heard him moving around, unsure what he was planning. She startled as his finger smeared over her lips. “Lick my fingers clean.”

  Lips parted, she swept her tongue over his two digits, then closed and sucke
d them into her mouth, recognizing her own flavor. He grunted and withdrew his fingers with a pop.

  She waited, wondering what he would do next. The scent of his rich cologne intensified as he ran a finger over the skin beneath her nose. She knew it was his finger, but his fragrance was suddenly so strong it reminded her of kissing his throat. Her brow knit beneath the blindfold. When he pulled away all she could smell was his cologne. He had put it there, why?

  “I’ve invited some friends.”

  Evelyn tensed, all other thoughts floating away like dust. She and Lucian had discussed a myriad of fantasies. She had a safe word in case she ever felt unsure and he reminded her often that she could use it. Sharing was something she was not okay with and he knew it. He too admitted not being able to tolerate another man touching her.

  Her heart pounded like a wild bird caged in her chest. Her tongue slicked suddenly dry lips. Was this part of the game or had he had a change of heart?

  “Undress, boys. I believe we can each have a shot at making her come before her lover returns.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. In the span of a second her confidence in his commitment to be the only person entitled to her body wavered, shoved back by her absolute certainty he would not push her too far. Still, she sought reassurance.

  “Luc—”

  His hand pressed over her mouth. “Quiet.”

  Then his touch was gone. She grew intensely self-conscious of her naked, exposed state. He wouldn’t. He would never share her. Not now, after they’d come so far.

  The sound of fabric shifting grated over her nerves like tiny blades. True anxiety announced itself and her breathing grew loud enough to overshadow the sound of the bodies moving. It was a game. He was toying with her and her rational self knew that, trusted him, but her imagination, that twisted part of the mind that fabricated nightmares, was really fucking with her certainty.

  She fought for control, ordering herself to calm down. Sharp awareness of how much control she’d surrendered dominated her panic. She was helpless.

  There was a shuffling of movement. The jangle of coins deep within silk-lined pockets, the clank of a metal belt buckle hitting the marble floor. She couldn’t help but flinch when someone’s hand wrapped around the arch of her foot and pulled it toward the edge of the bed. Lucian. Lucian. Lucian. It’s only Lucian.

  “Isn’t she beautiful, boys? Look at that pretty pink pussy. It’s just begging to be filled by a big, hard cock.”

  Evelyn trembled as her ankle was restrained with silk. Again, a hand wrapped around her other foot. The process was repeated and all physical contact ceased. She shivered, as she lay exposed, restrained, and completely vulnerable. Minutes ticked by like hours. The silence was deafening. She wanted to scream, but also refused to give over, thinking she could somehow outwit the hysteria that beckoned. He was testing her trust, she realized.

  She did trust Lucian. He was purposely shaking her faith, that was all—fishing for more reassurance. Actions spoke louder than words. Knowing that he would watch her reactions, weigh her surrender, only calmed her more. He wouldn’t let anyone else touch her. This was a test, to see if she trusted him to toe the line without crossing it.

  As she lay there on the plush, cool covers she lost track of time. The weight of being watched pressed into her, tightening her skin, making her hyperaware she was not alone, yet at the same time she had never felt so unaccompanied. What was he waiting for? Trepidation choked her. No one else was there; she knew it because she knew him, sometimes better than she knew herself, but still, the anticipation of proof was torture. She didn’t want to move past the game, but she needed to confirm she was right and it was only the two of them in the penthouse.

  Blindly, she clung to the familiar scent of Lucian just under her nose. She became aware of only that one anchor. So engrossed was she in breathing in that recognizable scent that she missed the moment he climbed onto the bed. The tickle of mysterious soft hair along her spread thighs made her jump. Silk cut into her ankles and wrists as she tugged at her bindings, and then his mouth was on her.

  She didn’t have time to adjust to the onslaught of sensations attacking her. This was it. This was the mind fuck of having an unsolicited touch force pleasure on her. The game suddenly became a reality.

  Fingers plunged into her wet core as lips tightened over the bud of her sex. Pleasure, no matter how much she protested it, built and washed over her with the sudden downpour of sweet release. Evelyn cried out, and before the fluttering waves subsided, the mouth was gone.

  Insecurity and confusion warred with her lust-addled brain. Doubt and certainty reflected each other like a funhouse mirror. Where was Lucian? She was so disoriented, she couldn’t place him in the room.

  Her questions ceased as the mattress dipped again and a strong body climbed on top of her. Her chest constricted at the unknown. This was still Lucian’s fantasy. He would not let someone else touch her, but the illusion he’d created was intensely real.

  Trust him, Evelyn! Trust him.

  Forcing a steady breath, she swallowed and waited. He had control. He had the power to call halt. He loved her. He would never push her too far.

  It amazed her how much her trust for this man could calm her. She never had such unwavering faith in someone else, never allowed herself to be so vulnerable. Trusting another to take care of her and know exactly what she could and could not handle was a new and frightening experience for her.

  Heavy weight settled high on her torso, knees bracketing her rib cage. Evelyn waited. Hands encased her breasts, and thumbs flicked over her nipples. Her thighs fought to draw together, but the silk holding her ankles was without give.

  Heat seared to the tips of her breasts as fingers clamped down on her nipples. Her lips pressed tightly, and her breath was audible in the silent room as it rushed in and out of her nose. Why was it so quiet?

  His weight eased and a finger ran along her jaw. Every touch raced over her senses, prickling every nerve receptor she had. Fingers curled over her chin as a thumb gently traced her mouth, pressing down on her lower lip. Her mouth opened and the hand was gone as he leaned forward and pressed his cock between her lips.

  Her tongue compressed under the hot weight, and she fought the urge to pull away. She had only ever done this with Lucian, and her mind eased as she recognized the feel of him.

  Her lips stretched as the cock pressed deep. She was completely pinned and afraid of choking, but he quickly withdrew. The mattress dipped beside her head where he caught his weight. As he pressed forward again, she heard the sound of heavy breathing. He was not unaffected.

  Her tongue curved around the cock foisting into her mouth, and she sucked. A sharp grunt sounded above her.

  The cock withdrew with a pop, and his weight was suddenly gone. Her lips moved as she silently repeated his name like a prayer.

  Lucian, Lucian, Lucian, Lucian . . .

  The slight flow of blood tingled to her toes, as her feet were untied. Her legs were drawn together and her body was pivoted and dragged over the bedding until a good portion of her limbs hung off the edge of the mattress. As her hips were hoisted and turned, forcing her to switch her weight from her back to her belly, she gasped. Barely given a chance to adjust, she was yanked lower on the bed until her toes grazed the cold marble floor.

  She lunged forward as two hands spread her cheeks. If there was ever a place a woman could be violated—a tongue licked over her back entrance. Unexpected pleasure knifed up her spine. A moan laced with the sound of confusion escaped her. The stubble of a male jaw scraped over her flesh followed by the quick nip of teeth. Then the assault began.

  “Lucian!”

  Faster and faster, his tongue slid over her flesh. Her cries called into the mattress until she was practically begging for him to finish her. His hand gripped her cheek while his other hand teased at her back entrance. When a wi
de finger speared the tight pucker there, she shouted with acute pleasure.

  Her body jerked as the digit fucked her. Her ankles were kicked out by bare feet, and hot thighs pressed against the backs of hers. The broad head of a cock slipped through the arousal covering her folds, and she experienced the unmistakable sensation of flesh on flesh. That’s when her certainty was validated.

  Lucian. It’s Lucian.

  She was, without a doubt, one hundred percent certain. Relief and pride washed over her that in those sparse moments of doubt she held strong to her conviction that it was him. Lucian could barely tolerate another man looking at her, let alone touching her. The lack of protection separating their bodies was all the proof she needed to ease her fickle mind. Her body stretched at the familiar sensation of Lucian’s cock pressing into her.

  He thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt and lifting her feet clear off the floor. Evelyn sobbed with renewed desire. His thumb pressed deep into her back passage as his cock withdrew and thrust again.

  “Lucian . . .” She repeated his name like a mantra, again and again, but out loud. With each vocalization of his name, he fucked her harder. His movements echoed his own manly cries. Grunts and moans filled the air over the slapping sound of sex. Her skin heated and her blood slowly boiled under the surface.

  “Say it . . .” he demanded. “Say my name . . .”

  “Lucian,” she shouted, her voice now hoarse as well.

  “That’s it. Say it. Know that I’m the only one who will ever touch you like this. Me, Evelyn.” He forced his cock deep, withdrew his thumb and blanketed her body with his weight. “Me.”

  It was raw and it was coarse, but it was completely honest. His need for her flowed from his body to hers as his heart beat into her back. However she had imagined love, it was not this. This was not something soft and delicate, tied up in flowers and bows. This was wild and honest, durable and true. He loved her, and when his feelings poured out of him like this, it was so potent there was no denying they were real.