The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2)

by Lauren Rowe

  An ice cube on my nipple jerks me back to the present. She swirls it around and across my chest and then down to my abs, her warm wet tongue trailing immediately behind the icy wetness like some kind of erotic Zamboni. Soft skin brushes against my erection—her nipple?—as her lips meander their way down my torso. I shudder.

  I want to touch her. I need to touch her. I reach out to her yet again and the restraints tug forcefully on my wrists. My stomach twists.

  Even as I climbed the stairs after hearing the gunshot coming from his room, I knew whatever awaited me would push my mind over the edge and into the dark abyss. And yet I continued climbing those fucking stairs, one brutal step at a time, slowly, involuntarily, inevitably, to my doom—his room a monstrous magnet and my body a passive slab of steel.

  I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body.

  “Yellow,” I whisper.

  “What part? The ice?”

  “No. The blindfold. Take it off. Please.” My words choke in my throat. I’m dangerously close to thrashing around, but I breathe deeply and control myself.

  Her hands touch my face. She removes the blindfold. Her face is awash in disappointment. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just wanted to try something.”

  I’m being a total pussy-ass right now. She looks so sad. I sigh. “It’s okay, baby. Put it back on. Do your thing. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. No blindfold. Just keep your eyes closed, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Swear?”

  “Yep.”

  She throws the blindfold onto the floor and I close my eyes.

  I feel her rolling to the side of the bed. The song stops.

  A new song comes on. Holy fucking Christ, no, no, no—it’s fucking One Direction, “What Makes You Beautiful.” Just shoot me now and send me to hell with my father where I fucking belong.

  My eyes spring open. “No,” I shout. “A fate worse than death.”

  She glares at me. “Close your eyes. You swore.”

  I comply.

  Her lips are in my ear. “This song is intended to punish you for your despicable actions earlier this evening.” Her tone is low and even. “You were a very, very bad boy. You lied to me through omission. You didn’t trust me. And that opened the door for me to mistrust you—not a good foundation for a healthy relationship, Jonas. And now I’m going to suck your cock to the dulcet sounds of One Direction to teach you a lesson. And as further punishment, from this day forward, whenever you hear this song in a passing car or in a grocery store, you’ll instantly get rock hard, remembering what I did to you tonight.”

  Well, that shuts me the fuck up—along with the voices inside my head, too. All of us—me, myself, and I—instantly give this woman our undivided attention.

  She chuckles, clearly amused by herself, and moves away from my ear.

  The abominable song blares at me, making my head hurt and my ears bleed. It’s a travesty is what it is—a fucking crime against humanity. But then her tongue licks my cock like it’s a melting ice cream cone and I don’t give a fuck what song is playing. When she takes me into her mouth, it’s really, really warm in there—and extra wet—holy fuck, she’s got warm liquid in her mouth that she’s swirling around my cock, like she’s treating it to its own personal Jacuzzi.

  I let out a low moan. I wish I could look at her right now, but a promise is a promise.

  Her mouth leaves me.

  I instinctively reach my hand toward her, willing her to return to me, needing to touch her, and the restraint stops me. Motherfucker.

  I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body, if she wanted me to.

  When I first beheld the horror he so meticulously staged for me, I gripped my sanity with all my white-knuckled might, determined not to let go of it—determined not to let him win. If only I’d turned around right then and marched out the door, if only I’d turned my back on him and his malice and his hatred and his decade’s worth of blame, if only I’d refused to let him have the last word just that one time, maybe I would have been able to hang onto my mind against all odds, even amid that final, horrific opera he’d performed just for me.

  But, no, I didn’t turn my back on him and I didn’t leave the room and I therefore didn’t save myself. Instead, I did the worst thing I could have done. I saw the envelope on his desk, his blood splattered across the neat lettering of my name, and I opened it. Even as I did it, I knew opening that envelope would be my last sane act, I fucking knew it—I knew my mind wouldn’t be able to withstand his final parting shot to me any more than his brain had withstood the final parting shot from his shotgun—but I opened it anyway.

  She takes my cock into her mouth again, but this time her mouth is icy cold wetness. The intense sensation jerks me out of the horror show in my head and puts me back in the room with Sarah. Surprisingly, the change in temperature feels exhilarating—acutely pleasurable. My Magnificent Sarah.

  The sound that comes out of me is primal.

  “You like that?” she asks. Her voice is gravelly and thick with arousal.

  “Yes,” I say.

  For a few blissful moments, her oh so talented mouth makes me forget all about my restraints. Just as I’m about to lose control and release into her mouth, her mouth leaves my cock, her hand grips my shaft, and her naked body writhes against mine.

  “I don’t want you to come,” she says, panting, her lips touching my ear. “Your job is to stay hard for me. You understand?”

  “Yes,” I choke out.

  “If you’re in danger of coming, you’re required to tell me so. You can say ‘I’m gonna come’ all you like, but if you really are gonna cross the line, you’ll say ‘limit’ so I know.”

  I nod.

  I hear the sound of movement at the nightstand.

  I shiver with anticipation.

  Her face is next to mine again. I smell the unmistakable scent of Altoids mints. Her tongue laps at my lips for one tantalizing second. “I’m going to make your cock feel minty fresh,” she says. Her voice is husky.

  She takes me into her mouth again. And damn, yes, minty fresh is right.

  I’d give anything to see her brown eyes looking up at me from down there, but, fuck me, I promised to keep my eyes closed. I try to imagine what she must look like right now—try to imagine her big brown eyes blazing up at me—but the thought is such a turn on, I have to stop thinking about it or else I’ll come like a motherfucker into her mouth. She sucks on my tip gently with just the right amount of pressure and I jerk violently.

  “Limit.” Holy fuck. “Limit.”

  Her mouth leaves my cock and finds my belly button. Her lips are warm.

  She’s moaning, shuddering. This is turning her on as much as me. She crawls on top of me and places my tip at her wet entrance. I jerk my pelvis up, trying to enter her, but she tilts away. I’m a caged lion swatting at a hunk of raw meat that’s being pulled on a string just out of my reach. And all the while, that fucking One Direction song tortures me.

  I want to reach out and touch her hair. I want to touch her sweet wet pussy and make her come. I want to hold her, cradle her, lick her, fuck her without mercy. I want to make her scream my name.

  One Direction, thankfully, stops.

  “You can open your eyes now.” Her voice is dripping with her arousal.

  I open my eyes. Oh God, I could come at the mere sight of her if I let myself. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are wild. A sheen of perspiration covers her face. She’s in ecstasy and I haven’t even touched her. She’s beautiful.

  “Limit,” I whisper, looking into her eyes.

  She moves to put on another song. “Do I Wanna Know?” by the Arctic Monkeys. Yet another reason to love this woman.

  She straddles my lap, teasing me yet again, writhing, and bends over to kiss my mouth.

  “You’re going to lick me now,” she says.

  “Untie me.”

&n
bsp; “No.”

  “Untie me.”

  “Just give it a chance. Trust me.” She flashes her most seductive smile.

  “I’m not going to lick your pussy with these restraints on. You’re my religion and licking your pussy is going to church.”

  She doesn’t understand. “Trust me, Jonas.”

  “Red.”

  She opens her mouth, shocked.

  “Red,” I say again.

  Her shoulders slump.

  “You want me to inhabit heaven and hell at the same time. It’s not possible. I choose heaven.”

  Her face droops.

  She silently unties my wrists, defeated.

  I rub my wrists and sit up to untie my ankles.

  When I’m freed of my restraints, I lie back down on the bed in the same exact position I was in a moment ago—my arms outstretched, my legs spread-eagle.

  I’m giving her my blood.

  “I’m a free man now, baby—and your slave by choice. Do whatever you were about to do and I won’t move a muscle. You own me.”

  She pouts. “Obviously not.”

  “Come on, baby, my devotion binds me ten times more fiercely than any physical restraint ever could.”

  She continues pouting.

  “I’m in the same position I was in when forcibly bound—but now I’m willingly bound. I’m your voluntary slave. Come on. You own me.”

  She doesn’t move. The look on her face grabs my heart and squeezes it.

  “Green,” I whisper softly. “Come on.”

  She looks crestfallen.

  “Green, green, green,” I say. “Green?”

  Her eyes perk up a little bit.

  “Green, green, green, green, green, green, green. Full steam ahead. I’m at your mercy, pretty baby.”

  Her mouth twists into a half-smile, but she doesn’t move.

  “Come on, baby. You’re my religion. Licking your pussy is going to church. And your name’s my sacred prayer. Sarah.”

  Her eyes ignite.

  “Green,” I whisper. “Come on, pretty baby.”

  She nods.

  She maneuvers her body up to my face and places her knees on either side of my head. Slowly, delicately, she lowers herself onto me and sits on my face. With a loud and grateful groan, I begin licking her. Oh thank you, Lord in heaven above, yes, I lick her. Halle-fucking-lujah. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to grab her ass, but I stay true to my word and keep my arms out to my sides like I’m on the cross. And, in a sense, I suppose, I am.

  She gyrates and jerks her pelvis, moaning and groaning as she does, her excitement quickly escalating into powerful thrusts and high-pitched shrieks. Just as her entire body begins to shake, she swivels completely around, panting and sweaty, bends over my torso, and takes my cock into her mouth as I continue eating her glorious pussy.

  My Magnificent Sarah, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. She’s a church hymn, howling at the top of her lungs. With one final, insistent shriek, her body ripples and seizes into my tongue. I yank my cock out of her mouth to avoid her soon-to-be clenched jaw.

  When I feel her climax ebb and her body go limp, I leap up, growling like a silverback, and toss her onto the bed. In one fluid motion, I bend her compliant body over the edge of the bed, plunge myself into her wetness, and fuck her without mercy until she screams my fucking name. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.

  Chapter 20

  Sarah

  He “safe worded” me and then fucked my brains out. What the hell? And now he’s gone mute. We’re both just lying here in bed together, one blink away from mutual catatonia, not speaking. I look over at him. Yeah, he’s awake. I feel like he owes me an explanation. But based on his silence, I guess he disagrees.

  Why exactly did he feel the need to use the safe word with me at that particular moment? I realize he’s fucked up, and understandably so, given what he witnessed as a boy, but how could he put on the brakes right then? True, I can’t imagine what kind of crazy he must battle on a daily basis after seeing what he saw, but I wasn’t raping him, for Pete’s sake—far from it. Even when I had him bound and tethered and at my utter mercy, my only impulse was to give him as much pleasure as I could muster—and not just any kind of pleasure, but the exact pleasure he always says he craves the most. So why on earth did he need the safe word right then?

  I wanted so badly to give him a special gift tonight—a new kind of bondage memory to replace the one that’s tortuously engrained in his gray matter. And, really, childhood trauma or not, would it have killed him to just let me take the driver’s seat in our sex life, just this once? Why can’t he just trust me and let go? I’ve had some childhood traumas of my own, thank you very much, but with each magical day and night we’ve shared, I’m somehow managing to conquer them.

  “Hey, have you actually written that report, or were you bluffing?” he finally says.

  This is what he wants to talk about right now? The Club? That’s the last thing on my mind.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you were bluffing.”

  “You’ve been with me twenty-four seven from the minute I found out the truth. When the heck would I have had time to write a detailed report? I haven’t had time to paint my nails let alone write a report like that.” It’s not my intention, but that last part came out sounding kinda bitchy.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  I turn on my side to look at him. “No.”

  “Because you sound kind of pissed.”

  I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. He looks at me expectantly.

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m just totally freaking out.”

  His face turns ashen. “About what?”

  “Jonas, I haven’t studied in a whole week.” Tears well up in my eyes, despite my best efforts to hold them back. “So much is riding on my grades and all I’ve been doing for a solid week is playing sex kitten with you. I’ve got to study, Jonas. I’ve got to focus and get some order back into my life and remember why I went to law school in the first place—” The tears break free and drop out of my eyes. “I’ve got a lot of people depending on me.” Oh God, I’m a hot mess. “And now, thanks to my big mouth, I’ve got to write a damned Pelican Brief as soon as possible, too.”

  He wraps his arms around me. “Baby, don’t you realize there’s nothing riding on your grades anymore?” He kisses my cheek and wipes my tears with his thumb.

  I pull back to look into his face. I don’t understand what he means. The top ten students at the end of the first year get a full-ride scholarship for the next two years, which means students eleven and below are shit out of luck to the tune of some sixty-five thousand dollars. This is my ticket to do whatever I want after graduation, including taking a job that pays peanuts but makes me genuinely happy. We’re talking about me trying to win life-changing money here, and all I have to do is study my ass off for one short year of my life. And yet, in the home stretch right before finals, here I am playing sex addict night and day with Jonas. I need to get a grip and refocus my priorities.

  He rolls his eyes like I’m a silly little girl. “If you get the scholarship, great. That’ll be a fantastic accomplishment and we’ll celebrate. But if not, I’ll pick up the tab. How much could law school tuition possibly be—fifty grand a year? So we’re talking maybe a hundred grand total? No big deal. Just consider yourself the lucky recipient of the Jonas Faraday Scholarship Fund.” He beams a huge smile at me.

  I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. The lucky recipient? He expects me to hinge my entire future on his fickle beneficence? On a spur of the moment reassurance made in bed? I’m the lucky recipient, he says? Well, I’ve got news for him—I’m not going to pin my entire future on luck—or on his charity, for that matter.

  He smiles at me. “Problem solved. The only thing you have to worry about is passing the bar exam at the end of year three. Between
now and then, just go to class and do your best, but don’t stress it.” He touches my face. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something you can do with all your newfound free time.”

  I stare at him, my mouth agape.

  “Okay. What else are you freaking out about? Tee it up and I’ll knock it out of the park for you, baby.”

  I sit up in the bed. I can’t even muster a response.

  “Come on. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it for you.”

  “You really expect me to let you pay my tuition?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t want to accept a laptop from you and now I’m supposed to accept two years worth of law school tuition?”

  He smiles broadly. Apparently, that’s a yes.

  “And you expect me to just sit back and chillax about it, as if you paying my tuition six months from now is some sort of foregone conclusion? Like your pillow talk today is an ironclad promise tomorrow?”

  His smile vanishes. The playful sparkle drains from his eyes. “What I’m saying to you isn’t pillow talk.” Oh man, he’s pissed.

  “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me about Stacy tonight, you won’t talk to me about the ‘hell’ I apparently forced you to endure tonight—your word, not mine—and yet I’m supposed to put my entire future in your hands and just believe on faith that six months from now, come what may between us, you’ll still be in the generous mood to write that tuition check for me?” Oh, good Lord, I’m shouting. I can’t stop the torrent flowing out of me. “What if you get bored with me between now and then—where would that leave me? What if, God forbid, I push just a little too hard, ask just a little too much of the Emotionally Scarred Adonis and scare you away? Hmm? What then? Would you come back to write my tuition check then?”

  He looks like I just stabbed him in the heart. He opens his mouth but closes it again. Oh holy hell. The look in his eyes is unadulterated pain. And yet, for some reason, I blaze right ahead.

  “You want me to put every single one of my eggs into the basket of a man who likens his feelings for me to a serious mental disease? To insanity? Yeah, that sure makes a girl feel über confident about having a long and secure future with a guy.” Holy shit, I can’t believe I just said that. Up until this very second, I thought I was perfectly fine with our coded language of love.