Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso

by Kaitlin Maitland

  Demon caressed the sleek ass he had every intention of fucking. “You wanted me to use a whip on you earlier. Isn’t that right?”

  There was the briefest hesitation. “Yes.”

  “This is the flogger you told me you used on Selena.”

  Malachi’s breath hitched again, but it was arousal and not fear. Demon could smell it like an aphrodisiac that sank deep into his veins. His own erection was clawing at the fly of his jeans with an intensity he’d never experienced before.

  “Did you use it to hurt her, Malachi?”

  “No.”

  “Did you bring her pleasure?”

  “Yes.” The word slipped out on a groan.

  Demon let the flogger trail over his bound lover’s heated flesh. He followed the rise and fall of Malachi’s broad shoulders as they tapered to his waist and rose to form an ass so perfect it made Demon’s mouth water.

  He clenched his hand harder around the handle to still the telltale tremors. “I’m going to do the same to you.”

  Malachi flinched when the tails slapped sharply across his skin, but it wasn’t in pain. The movement caused him to thrust into the slick tube nestled around his penis. It stroked him again and again as Demon applied the flogger to the sensitive skin of his upper thighs.

  A red flush tinted Malachi’s skin. Demon smoothed his hand over the marks and set the flogger aside. He continued to stroke his lover. He spread Malachi’s muscular cheeks to expose his anal entrance. The sharp inhale told him Malachi was more than ready.

  Demon stripped out of his jeans, welcoming the chill air. His dick bounced against his belly, and he bit back a hiss. Control wasn’t a game to him. It was the essence of his being. Yet the memory of Selena teased him with her presence, sending him closer to the edge than he’d ever been.

  It wasn’t a bad thing.

  He straddled Malachi on the table. Caressing his lover, Demon dispensed a good amount of lube onto his uncircumcised cock. The frigid liquid did nothing to lower his internal temperature.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” Demon murmured. “Every motion I make will send you deep into that pussy. This is what it would be like if the two of us added a woman to our play.”

  He fit the head of his cock against Malachi’s tight ass. The feel of his sensitive foreskin tunneling past the thick ring of muscle in his lover’s anal passage was sheer heaven. Demon angled his hips and plunged deep inside the tight heat. Below him, he felt Malachi do the same.

  Pleasure eroded rational thought, and Demon slipped the leash on his need. Closing his eyes, he savored Malachi’s intense enjoyment. Fucking this beautiful man was perfect every time. There was no need to be careful with Malachi. The big man took everything Demon gave and more.

  The rush of a building orgasm clawed at Demon’s heightened senses. He embraced it, channeling the energy into the long strokes he leveled into Malachi’s ass.

  Demon pressed his chest to Malachi’s back, their sweat mingling. “You’re going to ejaculate inside that pussy.”

  “Sir?”

  It was the closest thing to argument Malachi would ever give, and Demon knew why. “Not everything is a trap, you big, beautiful bastard. If you can’t trust that, then trust me. I’ll never steer you wrong.”

  Malachi jerked beneath him, and Demon knew his lover was fighting a war inside his head. Demon ground against him, pushing the tip of his cock against his lover’s sweet spot. Malachi shuddered, unable to hold back.

  “Let go, Malachi. I’ll catch you.”

  Malachi’s ass clenched tight around Demon’s cock as his orgasm ripped through his body. Demon could sense the semen pouring from his lover into the soft embrace of the synthetic pussy.

  The slice of Demon’s brain still coherent in the maelstrom of pleasure wondered how much more incredible it would be to experience a woman in the throes of climax, her legs wrapping about them both as she screamed her pleasure and soared.

  The image sent Demon over the edge. He convulsed, his fingers digging into Malachi’s shoulders as he ejaculated a pulsing stream of cum into his lover’s ass. He strained for the full range of his release. Something unexpected held him back from his full completion as if they were missing a third party in their love play. The whisper of thought told him things would never again be the same.

  Chapter Seven

  Selena twisted sideways in an effort to get her shoulders past the stack of designer suitcases in the back corner of her closet. She distinctly remembered stuffing her dance bag somewhere in this vicinity when she’d abruptly stopped going to class. She hadn’t expected to ever need the thing again. It had been nearly two and half years since she’d even thought about it.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Selena didn’t bother backing out of the closet. Her older sister could damn well wait for a response. The question was rhetorical anyway. Finally, Selena felt her fingers brush a corner of the canvas tote. Elated without knowing why, she dragged it through a hole between two roller bags.

  “Seriously, Selena, Mama called me two days ago to ask if I’d seen you in the last couple of weeks.” Desiree had on one of her bossy expressions, but Selena ignored her. “Weeks! You don’t bother to come home for weeks, and then you show up out of the blue without even saying a word? What is wrong with you?”

  Selena barely spared her sister a glance. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  The bag was more familiar than anything else in Selena’s life. She’d carried it to and from rehearsals and practice sessions for years. Mom had bought the bag when Selena was only ten. By then she’d outgrown the pretty pink one she’d used every day since she’d starting dancing at age three.

  Selena could still remember how grown-up and special she’d felt the first time she’d carried the black tote into the dressing room. All the older girls had one—the girls who danced in the company productions, the ones who showed “promise” and were “going places.” Selena had wanted so badly to be just like them.

  That dream had sustained her throughout her existence as a spoiled society princess. It had provided discipline and structure in a life that offered nothing but endless pampering and indulgence. That kind of preferential treatment had made her a bug under everyone’s microscope. When she’d danced, her hard work counted for something. Until the moment her own mother had popped Selena’s aspirations like delicate soap bubbles.

  “Earth to Selena, are you even listening to me?”

  “Not really, but you’re welcome to continue talking at me.” Selena gazed up at her sister and gave her a cynical grin guaranteed to drive Desiree crazy.

  Desiree’s designer blouse, jacket, and pencil skirt looked way too put together for an impromptu confrontation. Selena wondered what was really going on.

  Her sister sighed and took a deep breath as if she was trying to calm down. “Look, what Jackson did was wrong. We all know that. But you can’t let it ruin your life like this. Can you just come downstairs and talk about it?”

  A rather distasteful possibility began to take shape in Selena’s mind. “Are there other people down there waiting?”

  “Could you just come downstairs?”

  Selena knew she shouldn’t have returned to their family’s Brookline estate. Lately she’d been staying at her friend Mattie’s place. The last few months had taught Selena that all the crap she’d once thought so important in life didn’t matter much in the end. She’d only come home for the dance bag because of what had happened at Triptych.

  Because of Malachi.

  The memory of his slate-gray gaze made her shiver. Desiree was still lecturing, but Selena tuned her out. Looping her tote over one shoulder, she followed her sister, fully intending to duck out at the first opportunity.

  “There you are, darling.”

  Selena froze on the sweeping staircase, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the railing. She hadn’t expected her mother to be waiting in the foyer. Annaline Aasen was dressed t
o take the city by storm, even while hanging out at home. Her pale blonde hair was impeccably styled, her silk dress and jacket combo freshly pressed.

  Selena became suddenly, painfully aware of her own rumpled jeans, T-shirt, and messy ponytail. Six months ago she wouldn’t have been caught dead in anything but designer clothes with perfect hair and makeup.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  “I had no idea you guys were having a family meeting.” Selena figured bluffing her way out of whatever idiotic intervention her family had planned was her best bet. “I’ll just run along and let you guys finish up…whatever it was you were doing.”

  From the direction of the kitchen two men entered the foyer. The first was her brother, Erik. He looked tired, his clothing rumpled and his dark hair sticking up at odd angles. It was no wonder, considering his wife, Talia, was due to deliver their first kid in another three months.

  The second man was a slightly broader, badass version of her brother with tousled, dark hair and a wicked gleam in eyes that were more hazel instead of the usual Aasen green. He gave her a rakish grin. “Thank God you showed up, Selena. This group is the killer of all parties. Erik’s married with a bun in the oven, and no one will come near Desiree when we go out because her husband scares them off with one look. No offense, Aunt Annaline, but Selena was my last hope for a good time while I’m here in Boston.”

  “I think she’s been having a little too much fun recently, Lars.” Annaline shot Selena an icy gaze. “It’s high time she get back to important family matters instead of traipsing around Boston making a fool of herself.”

  Not even her mother’s insult could dampen Selena’s joy at seeing her cousin for the first time in more than two years. “Lars Aasen, did you come all the way to Boston for my intervention?”

  He opened his arms, and Selena dashed down the steps and flung herself against his chest. He squeezed her tight. “Coincidence, love. I flew in from London two days ago. I’ll be hanging about in order to step in while Mr. Mom takes his paternity leave after the baby is born.”

  “Maybe he can talk some sense into you,” Erik grumbled. “God knows you won’t listen to the rest of us.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Selena stepped away from Lars’s comforting presence. “You’re right. Since I had the audacity to leave my no-good, can’t-keep-his-dick-in-his-pants husband, I should be hiding in shame. Or better yet, begging him to take me back.”

  “Nobody’s saying that.” Desiree gave their mother a wary look. “At least I’m not saying that. But we’re a little worried that you’re running with some unsavory people.”

  “Unsavory people. Really? That the best you got, Desiree?” Selena wondered what her family would say if she described Malachi to them. If she told them she’d let him use a flogger against her pussy and bring her the best orgasm of her life. All within ten minutes of meeting him.

  What would they say if I admitted I wanted a repeat performance with Malachi after telling him to invite a friend for a threesome?

  “Jackson treated you horribly. Of that there is no doubt.” Her mother glanced down, examining her cuticles. “However, instead of using the very public incident to reinforce your place in society, you’re hiding out in clubs, keeping low company, and making the people who count wonder if Jackson wasn’t right to treat you as he did. I’ve told you a thousand times, wild displays are perfectly acceptable as long as you use them to sway public opinion in your favor. Especially now that Jackson has left town for a while.”

  The words stung. Just once Selena wanted her mother to acknowledge her as something more than a society princess. She wanted to be worth more than her stock as the pampered daughter of one of Boston’s richest families. Preoccupied with her feelings, Selena almost didn’t catch what her mother had let slip about Jackson.

  “Did you just say Jackson left town?” she asked, for clarification.

  Annaline sniffed. “His father has put him in charge of some business interests in South America. He left for Rio a few weeks ago.”

  About the time he was stupid enough to pull a gun on Malachi. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. “Well, with that lovely encouragement in mind, I think I’ll just crawl back into the hole I share with my low company.” Selena turned on her heel and stalked away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lars trying to decide which way to jump. “You coming, London Boy? Or are you going to stick around with the married set?”

  “When you put it that way…” She could hear Lars’s feet on the marble floor as he followed along in her wake.

  * * * *

  “So, where are we going exactly? And do I need to change my shoes to enter this cesspool existence you’ve been living?” Lars settled himself into the passenger seat of her tiny Acura.

  Selena shot her cousin a mocking smile. Three years her senior, he had a rowdy sense of humor that was always a little on the irreverent side. Since he was closer in age to her than to Erik and Desiree, Lars had been her childhood playmate during the summers he’d spent at their estate.

  “I was sorry to hear about your divorce.” Lars frowned. “If I’d been in town, I would have strung the bastard up by his balls.”

  “Your solidarity is duly noted. Although unnecessary since my lawyers pretty much did the legal equivalent.” Selena whipped the little car onto the ramp and headed toward Danvers.

  He looked at the scenery with interest. “Okay, I give up. Where the hell are we going?”

  “I’ve been staying with my friend Mattie. She works out of a studio in her house in Danvers when she isn’t working at a gallery in Salem.”

  “Is she a witch?”

  “Why? You need a love potion?”

  Selena hadn’t mentioned staying with Mattie to her mother or sister. Desiree wouldn’t have cared. She’d always liked Mattie, but their mother was another story. Besides, it wasn’t a permanent solution. The tiny historic house Mattie owned was barely big enough for her painting paraphernalia. Not to mention its location in the middle of nowhere. It took almost twenty minutes of navigating a colonial-era dirt track just to get from Mattie’s to Salem. It was another forty-five minutes to the city.

  A billboard caught Selena’s eye, and she promptly forgot their conversation. HEAR THE MUSIC. The words were emblazoned in gold across a black field dominated by a pair of white toe shoes. The ballet shoes looked like Selena’s own—battered and scuffed, their existence a testament to dedication and love of dancing.

  Lars gripped the handle on the passenger side as they swerved across two lanes of traffic. “Are you crazy! Thank God the ice from last week’s storm is gone.” His hazel eyes were wide as hubcaps. “Where the hell are you going?”

  She gestured at the billboard. “Wherever that is.”

  “Boston School for the Arts?” He ducked his head to read the information on the rapidly disappearing monolith. “Do you even play an instrument?”

  “Dance, stupid.” Selena knew she’d heard of the school before, though she couldn’t place it. “I used to dance.”

  “Turn right at the bottom of the exit. That’ll take you to the cross street nearest their address.”

  Her tiny car jetted down the ramp, tires squealing as she took the corner a little faster than she should have. “You’re not going to talk me out of this?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  She hung another right and dived into the Boston afternoon traffic. “Probably not.”

  “It should be coming up here on the left.”

  With a little tweaking, he might have a future as one of those GPS voices. She peered out her windshield as they approached an old brick building labeled BOSTON SCHOOL FOR THE ARTS. A white and black banner draped across the pillared entrance announced that the school was accepting applications for new students.

  A car veered away from the curb, leaving an empty space. Selena slammed on her brakes and ignored the horn blaring behind them. “See, perfect timing.” She backed neatly into the spot.

  Lars slu
mped against the dash. “Remind me to get a cab for the ride home.”

  “You’ve been away from Boston too long if you thought that was bad.” Selena rummaged behind her seat until she could close her fingers on the familiar canvas bag. She yanked it over the console into her lap and snatched up her purse. “Are you coming with me?”

  He heaved a sigh and shoved open the passenger door. “I suppose I am vaguely responsible for you at the moment.”

  An arctic breeze sliced through Selena’s thin hoodie, and she pulled it closer to her body. The gray sky promised to dump another helping of snow before the day was through. Selena loved Boston, but in December the city on the hill could start to resemble the North Pole.

  They entered a large courtyard situated between four identical buildings. Two of the towering structures looked like residence halls, while the others had wide windows that offered a view of students in class. The one directly opposite the entrance was labeled MAIN BUILDING.

  Lars was already striding quickly in the direction of the office. “Aren’t you too old for this place?”

  Selena hoped he wasn’t right. “I don’t think that’s how these schools work. It’s skill level as much as grade.”

  He took the steps two at a time and pulled the door open. “When was the last time you danced?”

  “Three years ago.” She ducked beneath his arm and savored the slightly warmer air in the drafty hallway.

  It looked exactly as she’d imagined it would. Battered black-and-white tile flooring and warm wood with a liberal sprinkling of windows. She could hear a strings class going through their scales somewhere down the hall. Right across the way she could see dancers dipping gracefully into plié while a teacher paced the length of the barre on the wall, making corrections.

  Excitement tingled down her spine. She remembered how it had felt to climb onto the table in the training room at Triptych, the still and steady thrum of quiet anticipation. She thought of a quote by Robert Frost, something that had never made sense until right now.