by Candy Quinn
I started, wanting to tell him the good news, give him something to brighten his shag ready mood. Though he worked hard not to show it, I could see the fatigue and frustration of the day heavy at the corners of his eyes.
He pushed me up against the counter, the ridge of our countertop digging into my ass. I shimmied against him, glancing down at the envelope on the floor. He was hoisting me up onto the counter before I could protest.
His lips were dry from working in the cold all day, his hands still chilled from the winter weather. He wasted no time slipping a hand up the front of my shirt, squeezing my breast as he kissed me. I squealed at his cold hands, but then hummed into his mouth, still wanting to share my news. He pried my knees open and pressed himself between my legs. I sighed and decided it could wait.
The kitchen was warm from the oven behind him and he dropped his work jacket onto the floor. He grabbed my hips, planting warm kisses on my collarbone, then my throat, whispering in that warning tone of his all the things he was going to do to me.
His jacket suddenly buzzed and wailed; the sound of a Wookie’s cry.
Greg stopped, his lips still puckered against mine. He cracked an eyelid and met my gaze. The phone buzzed again.
“Shit.”
He turned from me, leaving me on the counter in wait.
Greg answered the phone and began to pace. I knew exactly who was calling.
“Oh shit. That’s tonight? Are you serious?”
There were some muffled words on the other end as Greg’s body language shifted, his shoulders growing tense.
“Do we really need to - No, no, I know I said I’d do it.” He shot me a warning glance. “Alright, I’ll meet him there.”
He blew through the living room, hanging up his phone as he went.
“I’m sorry,” he said from down the hall. “God fucking damn it, I’m sorry.”
I hopped off the counter, snatched the envelope from the floor and followed, only to find him pulling his suit from our closet.
“What’re you doing?”
He shot me a glare. “Getting dressed for a fucking Chamber of Commerce dinner, some fuck all thing. I don’t even know. Mitchell needs me to meet Terry Sha -”
“Why can’t he do it?”
“Why can’t he do fucking anything, Patricia? I don’t know.”
Normally I would be upset. Normally, I might give him a hard time, simply because I needed him to know how disappointed I was. Tonight, was different.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Stop.” Greg took a breath. “Sweetheart, please. I don’t mean to be a dick right now, but I’m fucking fuming. And I’m rocking a god damn hard on now, to boot.”
I fought to hide a chuckle. “No, I mean it. You don’t have to -”
“God damn it, where is my fucking tie?”
I stood by the door watching him. He was in a state, one of those pressure cooker moods of his that would end in raised voices and a door being slammed. I could fight through it, make him hear me, but instead I let him stew. He bent over the dresser drawer, pulling a well-worn grey t-shirt from inside. He tossed it onto the bed beside his pressed white shirt and suit jacket. Though he was getting dolled up, he still hadn’t taken off his jeans or flannel shirt, somewhat disheveled from a day of work. If I knew Greg, he wanted to curl into a ball of writhing limbs and kisses as much as I did, but he had responsibilities, and he wouldn’t let me tell him otherwise.
He yanked another drawer out, then another. “I don’t want to fucking go,” he said.
I sighed. “Then don’t.”
He slumped into the chair by the bed, snatched up a rolled pair of socks then leaned back, running his hands through his dark hair. He stripped off his shirt, then he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, and exhaled.
“And I need to fucking shower.”
I went for our closet to find his tie. There were two options at the fore, a bright red paisley, and a powder blue. He hated the paisley one, so I tossed it to him. I took a moment to look at him, his head leaning back, his pale chest bared to me as he slung his arms at his sides, giving an exaggerated groan of disdain. His shoulders were the widest part of him, his chest sparsely covered in tiny straight hairs that I played at when we lay in bed together. He sat there silent, his eyes closed. I took only a moment to decide.
I set the envelope on my nightstand and moved to the back of his chair to take his hands. He started at the sudden touch, craning to look back at me. I pulled his hands back to the wooden slats of the chair and wrapped the bright red abomination of a tie around his wrists.
“What are you doing, woman?”
“Nothing,” I said, looping the tie around his other wrist before tying the first knot.
He straightened. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I moved swiftly, nervously. His tone was soft, but his temper was up. Even if he softened his tone for me, no matter how sweet his manner, he could scare me. I knew what I was doing would get me in trouble, especially given his mood. I loved getting in trouble with this man, but even I knew tonight was a dangerous time to seek such things. I finished tying the second knot, affixing his wrists to the wooden slats. It was done; he was helpless. I stood up and came around to the front of the chair to face him. His shoulders seemed broader now with his arms trapped behind him.
He glared at me and gave a tug at his wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
I set my jaw, nodding. I let each word ring with purpose. “You don’t have to go.”
“Don’t start, Cole. Just don’t -”
I tugged my skirt up to my hips and kicked a leg across him. He straightened, but I settled into his lap. His face turned up to me, his eyes growing dark in that sudden shift of intention, from blind frustration to intimate menace. And it was menace; a dominant will that rendered me every time he touched me a certain way, the quiet warning that I would be his, however he wanted, whenever he wanted. I feared he might be too angry to inspire to such things, but I felt him beneath me and knew such worries were needless. That menace returned to his eyes now, but when he pulled at those knots, they held fast. However furious he was, his dark eyes betrayed the same desires I harbored. He couldn’t grab hold of me, toss me off, or pull me closer if he liked, couldn’t throw me onto the bed or smack my backside. All he could do was strain beneath me as I began to move against him in familiar rhythm.
His body responded, instantly. He growled, his words barely a whisper. “You don’t want to do this.”
I smiled, touching my nose to his, searching his face. “Oh, but I do.”
He tugged at his wrists again and glared at me. I giggled at his the sight of his glare. I was going to get it when he pulled free. I was going to get it, and love every second of it.
“Untie me.”
“No.”
I shifted over him, grinding down into his lap as the muscles in his shoulders strained. He was working at the knots around his wrists; he would get free in time, but for now I would enjoy these moments, feeling the solid warmth of his body and the involuntary ripples of pleasure that played across his face.
“Woman. Untie me now, or you will regret it.”
I laughed, dragging my nails up through his hair as I rose and fell over him. He was hard beneath me, his breathing shallow and hoarse, but his brow was set with a glare of warning. I lifted myself enough to get to his belt and unfastened it, pulling his jeans open and down over his hips as much as I could.
“Lift yourself up.”
“Un-fucking-tie me.”
I tugged at the waistband of his jeans and they slipped down to where his backside was squarely planted on the chair. He refused to budge, leaving his cock hidden beneath zipper and boxers. I stood before him, meeting his glare with one of my own. Then I reached for his ankles, grabbed the hem of his jeans on each pant leg and pulled them out before him. He swore at me, but the jeans slid down a few inches. I gave another tug, causing him to lurch forward i
n his seat, and they came free from beneath him. I pulled them off, then knelt before him, shimmying his boxers down and off as well. He sat there in his wooden chair, arms useless, eyes burning into me, threats and frustration spewing from his lips, but as I pushed his knees apart and moved closer to him, the words stilled. His expression fought me with every glance, but his body sprung to meet me. I kissed the inside of his thigh, moving my hands upward. He tensed to my touch.
When he spoke, it was a whisper. “I’m going to punish you for every second of this.”
“Promise?”
With that, I took him in my mouth. He groaned.
I could feel him straining above me, but I kept my focus on my work, letting my lips play across the smooth skin of his cock, slick from my mouth. He gasped when I took him wholly, sucking as deeply as I could. He was fighting against the knots, and I was sure he would come free, but I had him helpless for now, and I attacked him with the fury of a woman on borrowed time. When he came loose, he would take over, grab me and throw me wherever he pleased, and though there was a chance he might simply leave me there, aching with need as punishment for my behavior, I knew him well, and he wasn’t one to walk away. I would love every second of my punishment, but it still frightened me just enough to elicit nervous giggles, and make my heart pound in my ears. I took him in my hand, stroking him as I played my tongue against the sensitive skin of his balls. He hummed his approval, despite himself, trying to hide it with a growl. My heart leapt at the sound. Suddenly his arms lurched forward. I jerked up, bracing myself for his assault. It didn’t come. Though the tie had loosened, he wasn’t yet free.
I moved with new fervor, wanting to torture him as long as I could. I lifted my dress up over my head, and then tugged my underwear down, kicking them across the room. He tugged at the tie again and his arms inched outward. I had moments, if not seconds.
I straddled him, reaching down to take him in my hand and direct him.
He glared up at me. “Holy fuck, you’re going to pay for this.”
I smiled, sliding down onto him, feeling him slip into me with ease as I lowered myself into his lap. He tensed, gasping softly in tandem with me. I settled onto his lap, the full length of him sheathed inside me, and I began to rise and fall there on him. He yanked at the tie and the telling sound of fabric tearing lit a fire in his eyes. He was almost free. I ran my hands through the tendrils of his hair and lifting his face to me, kissed him. He bit my lip. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt.
I jerked back. “You fucker!”
“I warned you.”
Despite the sting of my lip, I continued to move over him. His expression wavered, but held. He wouldn’t give in to sensation. He turned his head down, clamped his open mouth over my breast and bit me again. I grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back. He chuckled in a manner that would haunt me.
I moved faster, pressing myself closer to him, our noses touching. I could feel his breath, hot against my lips, growing sharper and shallower as I moved.
He smirked. “You’re fucked.”
“I know. I still want you to kiss me though, damn it.”
He glared at me, straightened in his seat, and did just that, piercing his tongue into my mouth. I shuddered at the sensation. This offering of reciprocation, like some tiny act of submission from the most dominant man I’d ever known rendered me helpless against him. I wanted his hands free now, I wanted to be taken in hand and given whatever punishment or reward he might see fit. I simply wanted to be his. I sighed into his mouth, rising and falling over him as he kissed me.
The movement was sudden and upending as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at my hips and he launched me off of him onto the bed. The tie dangled from one wrist, flayed strands of fabric hung at the other. He’d torn the fucking thing in two.
He barreled down onto me, taking hold of my hair as he guided himself into me again.
I cried out against the sudden force of him.
“Is this the punishment you wanted?” He asked as he thrust into me with such force, my insides buckled. I tried to scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth, lowering his lips to my ear. “Shh. No need to scream. You knew exactly what was coming to you.”
He thrust again and again, holding me beneath him, helpless to him, battering my insides with force in juxtaposition to his gentle whispers. I cried out against his hand, trying to gasp for air, but he held me there, watching my face as he punished me. I could feel the heat in my sex rising, feel the way he slammed into the right places, urging me on and on. My legs clamped around him, but his movements didn’t slow. I was coming and there was no more I could do about that than free myself from his grasp.
I closed my eyes tight, feeling tears slip down into my ears, and held my breath.
“That’s right. Come for Daddy,” he whispered into my ear. I seized beneath him with such violence, he loosed his hold on my mouth, letting me scream, pinned beneath him. He drove into me harder and faster, as though punishing me now for my orgasm. The wave crested, began to recede, but with the fervor of his movements, started anew, and stronger. I reached for him, wanting to touch his skin, pull him onto me, but he saw the movement and grabbed my wrists, pinning them over my head.
“How does it feel? Wanting to touch me and being denied.”
I cried out in near pain and frustration.
“How does it fucking feel?”
“Please!”
He pounded into me now, grunting and growling with each thrust. I recognized the sounds of his coming orgasm.
I tore my hands from his grasp, reaching down to clamp my hands over his backside, pulling him into me, pushing myself up to him. He met each movement with another more powerful thrust.
I dug my nails into his ass. “Is that all you got?”
Before the words could even pass my lips, I braced for impact. He clutched his fist in my hair, and roared. I could barely catch my breath as I came again, this time the sensation searing like electrical charges through my sex, splaying out into my limbs and my belly. He shuddered over me in unison, feeling the warmth of his seed inside me. He convulsed, pressing his forehead to mine, his breathing hoarse on my face. Then he slumped onto me, his face buried into my hair.
We took a moment to catch our breath, silent. I draped my arms across his back, playing my fingernails at his smooth skin. He hummed softly in appreciation.
“I should tie you up more often.”
He lifted himself up, slowly, then met my gaze. The stern glare was enough to strike fear in a Spartan. I giggled beneath him.
He rose to his feet, leaving my skin cool from our sweat and the absence of his warmth. “Believe me, if you do, the punishment will only be worse.”
I smiled, watching him collect his dress slacks from the foot of the bed. “Is that supposed to deter me?”
He shot me a warning look and bent to pick up his suit from where it fell, rumpled on the floor.
The high pitched rhythm startled me onto my feet. “Shit! The timer!”
I grabbed my bathrobe and ran down to the kitchen, pulling the roast from the oven. I scanned the counter for the meat thermometer, swearing to myself.
I could hear him calling from the bedroom. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late now. Still need to shower.”
I was exasperated, unable to remember where the damn thermometer was. God damn it, if this roast wasn’t medium rare - “Baby! You don’t have to go!”
He appeared in the hallway, throwing his hands up. “Right! Because a quick shag solves everything, right?”
“On the nightstand, you stubborn dick!”
He turned, glancing into our bedroom. “I’m a dick? You’re a pain in my ass! I don’t have time for this.”
“Just look on the damn nightstand.”
I spotted the meat thermometer by the sink and jabbed it into the hunk of meat now stewing in its juices. I watched the tiny needle spin.
Greg appeared in the hallway again, holding the envelope, eyeing
it. He muttered a confused word or two, then read the return address. “Oh, shit.”
He hustled into the living room and sat down on our couch, reading the letter, his shoulders slumped and I read the gesture loud and clear; relief. I moved along the counter to watch him.
He ruffled his hair and exhaled. “Holy shit.”
Somewhere in the distance, a Wookie cried out. He hopped up and darted into our room to retrieve his phone.
“Oh! Hey Terry. Sorry I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. – I’m not actually working with AAA anymore.”
I listened to him there, standing shirtless in our hallway, his tone having shifted from dejected frustration to the lilt of an excited school boy.
“Yeah, actually going into business for myself. – As of today. – I know, right?”
I slipped down the hallway to join him in our room, bending down to grab my clothes from the floor. He slapped my ass, the sting of it causing me to yelp as I scurried out of reach. He returned to the phone as I began to get dressed.
“Seriously? No, absolutely! That sounds great. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. You got it, Terry. Looking forward to it.”
Greg hung up the phone and chuckled to himself. I waited for him to offer the news, to share this moment of glee that I heard so clearly in his tone.
“So, should I call Mitchell now and tell him to go fuck himself?”
I smiled at him.
“Or should I drag your sorry ass into the shower and punish you some more?”
I smiled and turned for the door, but he was on me before I could escape. He wrapped his arms around me, hoisting me off my feet, and marched down the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind us.
* * *
Also from Delaney Jane
COMING HOME
BROKEN SURRENDER
14
…Only for the Night
By Cecilia Lawrence
Debbie was frustrated. She'd always been sexually charged. Her pussy would tingle and simmer in the back of her mind. Her nipples would harden and ache for her attention. Normally Debbie would masturbate once or twice a day to deal with it, but since she'd been driving the past day and a half she hadn't the chance. It didn't take much, and the constant vibrations of driving the RV were getting to her. It wasn't just the lack of sexual release that frustrated her. It was her lack of direction, not in driving, she knew where she was going. No, it was not having any idea what she wanted to do with her life, no discernible career path, no clear desires to change or impact on the world, fuck she didn't even have a boyfriend. There was something about her that attracted all the wrong sort of assholes. Half the time she wanted to ignore their leery gaze, their stupid opinions, their bullshit excuses and just get some release. But every time she remembered what a real man was like, what she deserved and shoved them away. There again lay the problem. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being directionless, maybe the sniffing dickheads wouldn't, well, seem like such dickheads if she wasn't constantly around her step-brother Brad.