by Drew Jordan
I just wasn’t sure how safe I was from him.
His beard scratched the delicate flesh behind my ear before his mouth slid down, over my shoulder, down to my chest. He teased his tongue over my nipple.
“Luscious Laney,” he murmured. “Soft and delicious.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, if I had permission to touch or not. They dangled at my sides even as I wanted to explore him, the angles and planes of his hard body. Then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel how much power was contained there, how much control he ultimately could and did have over me.
But the urge was too great, my curiosity too strong.
As he drew my nipple into his mouth, I tested the strength of his arms, squeezing his biceps, in awe at his taut ripped muscles. These were honed with nothing but manual labor. Hauling, chopping, lifting. That was sexy as hell. There were no supplements or protein shakes or expensive equipment to run on, machines to bulk his arms. It was just him and nature and survival. With nothing but his hands and his brains, he had carved out a life for himself and I found that fascinating. And sexy.
“What are you doing?” he murmured, pulling his head back slightly.
“Feeling your muscles.” Using my fingertips, I lightly brushed back and forth over his skin, pleased when the motion called forth goose bumps. “I like how strong you are.”
“You’re a strange little creature, Laney.” He cupped my cheek with his rough, worn hand, his thumb gliding over my bottom lip.
It was so hard to have him stare at me like that, his gaze intent, his body so overwhelming over mine. I felt the familiar uneasiness because I was both intrigued and afraid. Aroused and unnerved. “Why is that?”
“Because the things you do don’t make sense.”
I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, in my favor or against it. It did mean he couldn’t predict me. “Do any of us make any sense?”
He pinched my bottom lip suddenly, hard. I winced involuntarily. “No. We don’t.” His nostrils flared. “I want you.”
“You have me.” I forced the words out. “Didn’t you miss sex?” I asked, genuinely curious about that. I could feel the thick forceful erection against my thigh.
“I didn’t miss sex. I missed you. I missed you before I even met you.” He kissed the spot he had just pinched, tugging my lip into his mouth to gently suck. “And now you’re here.”
A shiver rolled over me. I closed my eyes, swallowing hard, the burn of tears at the back of my eyes again. He said the things I wanted him to say. He looked at me and it was the look I’d always wanted- one of rich desire, need. Here was a man who could love me with all the depth and intensity I had always craved. I could be his world, the way every fantasy I’d ever had as a child and teen had played out.
Yet he was my captor. I his captive.
There could never be love.
Only submission.
Without warning his cock thrust inside my body and my breath caught in my throat.
CHAPTER TEN
As he moved in me, he took my hands and raised them over my head, in a tight grip so I couldn’t touch him. Without the ability to hold on, I couldn’t gain any purchase and with each thrust I shifted on the bed, restless, teased. Not my own motion or movements, but from the invasion of him inside him. Watching him, I left my legs slack, let him take me his way, then marveled at the irony of that. I wasn’t letting him do anything. He did what he would. I took what he gave.
If I’d had a choice, I would have braced myself on the headboard so my body was still when he slid inside me, so I could feel the full force of his cock massaging my inner walls, tipping against my G spot. This was a frustrating squirm, a tickle that made you want to scratch for satisfaction, but you couldn’t reach your itch. Shifting wouldn’t make it better, so I actually went totally still. It seemed easier that way. Limp and still and let him do what he needed to do because I wasn’t going to orgasm. I could feel that it would be elusive both because of my mood and because I couldn’t grab his ass and force him to pound me consistently.
He didn’t seem in any hurry though. He stroked leisurely, hair spilling over his eyes, changing his rhythm frequently enough to become maddening. There was no pattern. It was faster, slower, harder, deeper, softer, rounder, if there was such a thing. He was everywhere, he was full in, he was in retreat. I wanted to move so badly I felt it in every fiber of my being. I wanted to ask him what the hell was he doing because he was driving me insane. My body grew more and more damp, more and more desperate.
I broke my vow to be still and moved, searching for a way to brace myself, to dig in my heels so I could raise my hips and fuck him in return, force him to take me the way I wanted him to take me.
But there was no forcing him to do anything.
As I wiggled around he paused, drawing a soft cry from me. “Where are you going?” he asked, voice steady, smooth, enigmatic.
A trick question? “Nowhere.” I raised my hips, testing. “I just… you are…”
“What am I?” His voice was low, smooth, just a hint of mocking behind it.
“You tell me.” I stared up at him, memorizing his face, every line, every angle, making note of the exact dimensions of his scar. Marveling at how he was the only face I had seen for days, might be the only face I would see for months. What would he become to me? “What are you?”
I expected him to say my master. My survival. My food and heat source. Anything to exert his control, dominance.
But he didn’t. Because he either knew how to play me like a maestro or he was the perfect peg for my hole. Maybe he was both.
“I’m your perfect fit.” With one smooth move, his arm firmly around my lower back and ass, he rolled us over.
Had the thought been mine or his? Sometimes it was like he pried open my brain and scooped out what he needed to know and it was frightening, yet comforting. I wanted someone to know me, the real me. I was sprawled across his chest, legs splayed, his cock still embedded deep inside me. I tossed my hair out of my eyes, hands still pinned to the mattress by his firm grip. I no longer wanted to cry. I wanted to take him, take the madness he offered. I felt feverish and strange, out of control. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else when I spoke.
Or maybe my true self.
“Can I fuck you?” I asked, excitement spilling out, startling me. I shouldn’t want it so much, but I did.
“I think you can ask a little nicer than that.” He cupped my breast and pinched my nipple, causing a jolt of desire to travel through me.
“May I please fuck you? Pretty please?”
“With a cherry on top?” The corner of his mouth turned up and the amusement looked genuine, pleased.
I nodded.
“You may.”
Without hesitation I raised my hips up then dropped down onto him, enjoying the full seating of my body on his thick erection. It felt so damn good. Like he said- the perfect fit. I didn’t care what message I was sending. I didn’t care about why he was offering me control or if he might take it away. If it was a game we were playing, I would gladly lose for the pleasure and the power of sitting astride his cock and driving him deep into me. I sat up, pushing my hair back out of my eyes, moistening my bottom lip as I watched him, watching me. A smile teased at my lips, unbidden, because I suddenly felt like the girl with the juiciest, dirtiest secret. Him. No one else could have him, because I did.
He gripped my breasts, his hands large enough to completely cover me, rough skin on smooth, strength on tender flesh. I clasped my hands over his and used my hips to move my body up and down, an orgasm building inside me. I felt hot, alive, strange, both out of my body, and more in it than I ever had. Every pleasant sexual encounter in my past paled in comparison, a muted watercolor whereas this was the color red, splashed boldly in wild high arching splatters. It was arterial spray next to a paper cut. My nerves were strung out, my mind both empty of reason, and wild with insane and speculative thoughts.
I won
dered, ever so briefly, in that two-minute ride of crazed abandonment, if I actually wanted to leave. If maybe I should just stay forever, to always have this. But even as the thought freaked me out, and I recoiled from it, renouncing it, I felt my body splinter, my orgasm sweeping me under, a hoarse cry leaving my mouth.
As it shattered me, I both grabbed it and tried to stop it, realizing I hadn’t gotten permission to come. “I’m sorry,” I breathed, even as I enjoyed every last inner quiver. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, I think you definitely meant to,” he said.
But he didn’t stop me. He let me ride it out until I was pausing on him, panting, skin dewy and covered in goose bumps.
His grip on my breasts tightened. “I said I would make love to you,” he murmured. “Yet all I want to do is turn you over and slap your ass. It’s a good thing I’ve taught myself discipline.”
Another convulsion ripped through me at his words, at the thought of him spanking me, my ass raised in the air for him. I wanted it. I wanted him to teach me a lesson, to not be passive and disinterested the way so many of my hipster sex partners had been. I shouldn’t crave it, but I did. It would be less unnerving than a tender stranger, using the word love in any context. If he were nice to me, I’d get confused, more so than I already was. I might start to believe him, to trust him. To care about him.
So I shifted off of him and without a word I turned, going on to my knees. And I waited, saliva thick in my mouth, the cold air tingling across my heated flesh. My breasts felt heavy, nipples still tight, and I arched my back, tossing my hair from my eyes. For a moment, he did nothing. He lay there, casually, beside me, and I felt the searing stare of his blue eyes.
Then he moved, rising up so that he was on his knees behind me, hands threading into my hair. “I can’t decide if you are being obedient or demanding. I just can’t tell with you. Sometimes, you’re so sweet, and other times… I see myself reflected in you.”
Head tilted back because of the tight grip he had on my hair, I couldn’t turn to see him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t know what he would see in my expression, or read there, regardless of what was actually there. Hell, I didn’t even know what was actually there.
“Most people aren’t all one thing or another,” I said.
“True. So tell me, Laney, what part of you is your favorite part?”
A shiver rolled over me. Not from fear, but from the thrill I got at such an intriguing question. No one ever asked me what I liked about myself. They told me, without words, what I should like. What I should be. But not my stranger. He wanted to know what pleased me about myself. It was a heady sensation as his callused hand held my head still and his thighs brushed against my ass. He hadn’t come so I knew what would be next, and I anticipated it with pleasure.
“I like the part of me that isn’t afraid,” I told him truthfully. “The me that is here, right now.”
“Is that because you’re not alone? Is that because you’re with me?” His fingers loosened in my hair, trailed down to the ends, and abandoned the silken strands for the smooth skin of my back.
He traced my spine, one vertebra at a time, descending lower and lower until he reached the dip between my ass cheeks. The tip of his finger rested there for a minute and I shivered, expecting him to shift it lower still, but he didn’t. I considered his words carefully and how I should answer. But then I realized there was no reason to weigh how I spoke, because he would like the truth. It didn’t matter how I felt about the truth.
“Yes. I’m afraid when you’re not here.” I had been. The day had been long and miserable and lonely. I might not understand him and I might not want to stay, a prisoner, but the naked and brutal truth was I’d rather be with him than alone. “I’m not afraid with you.”
His finger disappeared and I was disappointed. I had been expecting, hoping, he would fill me with his forefinger, and stroke my simmering desire back to a high flame. But then he shocked me by smacking my ass with the palm of his hand so hard I fell forward, elbows buckling. A cry shot out of my mouth. “What…”
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s why you’re on your knees.”
It was. But I didn’t want him to be so harsh. I wanted a gentle smack. Fake spanking. Just enough to be arousing, not enough to hurt.
Wasn’t that how I lived my entire life, with the exception of just one or two times? Just enough to fool myself in to thinking I was living, but never doing anything that was remotely uncomfortable. Never pushing physically or emotionally. Living a life of bored safety. Until Alaska.
I came to Alaska to be strong. Or to learn to be strong anyway.
So I lifted myself back off the bed, where I had tumbled forward. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the headboard, gripping tightly. I spread my legs further, planting myself so I would hold steady. “Yes. It’s what we both want.”
“You don’t understand how much I want you,” he said. “How hard it is for me to hold back.”
How far could I let him go? I didn’t know. But I didn’t want to hedge or hesitate either. Swallowing, I chanced a look at him over my shoulder, ignoring how the heavy weight of my hair obscured the view from my left eye as it tumbled forward. “If I was taken away from you, would you regret holding back?”
Unleashing the beast was a huge, huge risk. But it was the only way to gain his trust. Bringing up leaving was a shrewd tactic that my gut told me would be better than ignoring the elephant in the room. His eyes narrowed.
“Will you be taken away from me?”
I shook my head. “No. Who would take me away? There’s no one who knows where I am. But it’s a rhetorical question. Would you regret it?”
“If it’s rhetorical it doesn’t matter what the answer is.” His nails scraped the soft skin of my ass cheek, drawing welts. “But the answer is yes, I would regret it.”
“I’m glad,” I said, voice hoarse. And I meant it. A part of me wanted to be missed, wanted to be wanted so much he couldn’t let me go. Wanted him to want to lose all control over me. Simple, uninspiring me, who wasn’t even sure who she was. Me, of the borrowed identity, floral hipster, modern hippie without the politics.
I had asked him who he was, but perhaps the better question was who was I?
A chameleon who changed with her environment? A shadow girl, who crept out only when the lights came on and she was called and coaxed? The mirror to everyone around me? Where was the true Laney? Stand up and be heard.
He caressed my backside, tenderly, lovingly, before giving me a firm swat. Less painful than the first, followed quickly by another and another. I let out a soft cry with each, turning to face the wall, concentrating on a knot in the board, focusing on it, forcing myself to relax. Each smack was a fresh jolt of pain, a sharp sting, my eyes filling with tears. Yet behind the pain was a razor sharp focus, a mental clarity, a rhythm to my breathing, to the sound of his hand colliding with my flesh, and an intimate connection between him and me that was indescribable. New. Enticing. I trusted that he wouldn’t hurt me and he trusted that I knew it.
If there could be trust between a captive and her captor. I tried to remember that’s what he was. That he was the man who was taking my future, my life, away from me. Yet I had never felt a greater sense of self. Of my skin, of my nerve endings, of the roots of my hair, and the depth of my womb. I felt alive, and strong, able to withstand his dominance. My ass went numb and my vagina went damp and my knuckles went white as I hung on to the bed.
When he stopped finally, I stayed still, ears ringing with the sound of his slaps, while he caressed my hips, and pulled me back, murmuring, “Let go of the bed.”
There was no hesitation. I fell into a child’s pose, collapsing in a comfortable stretch, as he entered me from behind. I rested my cheek on the soft sheet, the tears trudging delicately down over my flesh, and dropping onto the fabric. My mind was empty and there was nothing but the ebb and flow of pleasure with each stroke. He had emptied me entirely and
now, he was the one to fill me back up. I came once, then again, but I shuddered instead of crying out, my throat too tight to speak. He was silent as well, and it was like the stillness of a midnight sky, black and bright all at once. The absence of light but with the beauty of the twinkling stars.
Afterwards, he held me against him, spooning, stroking my hair, my hip, murmuring soft, wonderful things that were like whispers in a tunnel. I couldn’t quite grasp them. Until he said, “You’re right. Being apart isn’t tolerable. I want you near me all the time. I want to see you and smell you and feel you. I want to wear you like a second skin.”
I closed my eyes, but behind my lids all I saw was the dangling hunks of animal flesh in the yard and me, with a hook right through my gut.
Hands closed around my neck, squeezing, choking off my air, big strong hands that had tied me up and spanked me, hands that had covered my mouth and rendered me unconscious once before. Only now I knew the feel of him, I knew his scent. It was almost as familiar as my own after a week with the stranger, always with him, our bodies constantly brushing against each other, boundaries invisible.
Was it time for him to finally kill me? To cross the line from animal he toyed with to prey he killed? I fought to open my eyes, hands reaching out to claw at the air, finding nothing.
I jerked awake, only to find him sitting there, not touching me. Only watching. He always watched. It was like he was waiting to see when I might show the truth, reveal every single last thought, every muddy, twisted, convoluted ounce of insanity running through my brain as the days drew out and the nights went on. For days I had been with him every second, and while I liked not being left alone with my thoughts, it felt like I could no longer think. He was… absorbing me. Not because he was rude or cruel or harsh. But because he was simply him.
A man I was no match for.
I tried to remember what I was supposed to be learning, but then he smiled, and I couldn’t make sense of how to betray him. No, not betray him. That wasn’t it. I didn’t care about that. Did I? How to survive without him. That’s what I didn’t know. Could I survive without him? In more than one sense.