No Limits: A Dark Romance

by Lauren Landish

  Rafe’s hands tighten, freezing me at the top of my lift, where the head of his cock is just inside me. His strength is amazing. I don't think I could move even if I wanted to, and his hips move, fast, powerful thrusts that drive his cock deep within me at lightning speed, our hips smacking together with sharp slaps, sending even more pleasure and feelings through me. The waves of ecstasy I felt before increase, faster and larger, a tidal wave building up inside me until I pitch forward, holding myself up on his chest while his cock hammers inside me, hard and totally in tune to what I need right now. I'm groaning, caught on the edge but unable to go over until I hear the words from him.

  “Now, Shawnie . . .” Rafe grunts, his hips somehow speeding up even more. I'm driven, pushed over the edge into coming, my pussy exploding with pleasure. Pure white light fills my body and I cry out, and I anticipate him coming as well, but it doesn't happen. I look down at him, shocked as he pulls me to him, a fire in his eyes. “Now it's my turn.”

  He pulls out of me and pushes me face down onto the bed and gets behind me. He grabs my wrists, pulling my arms back a little to hold on to, and thrusts, his cock sliding deep inside my still quivering pussy and cutting off my words with a deep moan.

  “I told you, I have deep, powerful desires. Now you get to feel them.” Rafe drives his hips forward, his cock almost tearing me open he's so fast and strong, and a new thrill runs through me. Before, he was holding back, and deep inside, I knew it even as I was taken to a level of pleasure I've never felt before. Now I have the real Rafe, powerful and dominant behind me, fucking me hard and for all he's worth, his cock slamming again and again into me. It hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, the hurt that turns into a pleasure that leaves my eyes rolling back into my skull as he pounds into me. “You like that?”

  “F–fuck me,” I beg, my animal side being released. “Fuck me, please.”

  Rafe rumbles, letting go of my wrists and grabbing me by the hair and pulling my head back, his cock deep inside me as he growls in my ear. “You're mine now, Shawnie.”

  “Yours, sir . . .” I gasp, something inside me whispering I've heard this before. I don't know where, but it doesn't matter. It's totally true as Rafe kisses my neck in triumph before grabbing my arms again and pushing me harder into the bed, my face and chest driven into the soft surface as he pounds me from behind, his cock sending fresh explosions through my body as he rubs against my g-spot with the thick, veiny shaft. I feel another orgasm building inside me and I grunt, trying to push back futilely. “Rafe . . .”

  He’s trembling now, his body vibrating like a guitar string as he drives into me, and I feel his cock swell. With a literal howl of triumph, he comes, his cock slamming deep into me one last time and exploding, his hot release triggering a second climax for me, and I scream, the sheets and pillows absorbing most of the sound while I'm carried away even higher than last time. Time freezes, and I hear a small, tiny voice inside me whisper that this is what I want, but I don't know which voice of the menagerie inside me is saying it. I’m too caught up in the moment.

  “How'd you know?”

  We're lying in bed, the dawn's early light filtering through the curtain on the window, my right hand rubbing Rafe's chest slowly and feeling his heart beat slow and sure under my fingertips. After such titanic sex, there was no way I could go home, and Rafe kept me in his arms all night as we slept together. Now it's five thirty, and I woke up a few minutes ago to both comfort and surprise. I can't help myself from studying his face and whispering softly.

  Rafe, who's probably still trying to find a few extra minutes of sleep, hums before he turns his head and opens his eyes, the deep blue capturing me again in an instant. I can see it—he wasn't sleeping. He was just being quiet, letting me have sleep or a chance to have some peace. “What's that?”

  “I asked how you knew about what turns me on?” I ask softly, and Rafe shifts, putting both arms around me.

  “There are several reasons, Shawnie. I promised you last night that I would tell you all of them when the time is right.”

  “And is now the right time?” I ask, and Rafe chuckles, shaking his head slightly. It annoys me a little, and I’m sure he sees it. “Well, what time is it then?”

  “Right now, it’s time for you to wake up, get a shower, and I'll make you breakfast. You have class at nine, and I've got a department meeting at eight forty five and an undergrad class at ten thirty.”

  “What about your new TA?” I ask, and Rafe shrugs.

  “He quit on me. I didn't even fire him. He just up and quit last week. The Dean isn't upset about it at least,” Rafe says with a small laugh. “Know any good people who want to be a TA? Curly hair, sandy eyes, and a body that'll drive me to distraction all the time in the office are highly sought after qualities.”

  I shake my head, smiling. “Sorry. I've got a good job right now.”

  After a scrumptious breakfast of fluffy scrambled eggs with toast while Rafe drinks something that looks and smells like slightly green mud for some reason, he drives me back to Stanford, dropping me off two blocks from campus at my request. Yeah, it's not against the rules now, but I still don't want to cause either of us to run into problems.

  I reach my Miata and see that the campus cops have left one of their 'just checking' notes that they do, a nice little gesture in a lot of ways. My bag with my laptop is still in my trunk, and I take it out. I don't have the books for my nine o'clock class, but it's pretty much a space out course and I know the material cold already. Actually, I'm looking forward to this afternoon, another day in the lab where I get to see Rafe . . .

  My phone rings, and when I see the number, a little cold ball of ice forms in my stomach. The Club. They've never called me before since the first month simply to confirm my membership. I haven't even thought of The Club in a week, and inside me, my sleeping demon chuckles. Last night with Rafe was good . . . but this is what it really wants. “Hello?”

  The suave, cultured voice that pours into my ear sends another thrill through me, but this isn't the good kind. It's the dark and dirty kind. “Hello, Sandy. How are you this morning?”

  “I'm . . .” I start to answer, almost telling Mr. Robinson that I have class in twenty minutes, but I stop. He doesn't need to know anything about my life. “I'm just getting ready to start my day. Is there something wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Robinson says, his voice still so confident and sure. My demon is starting to rattle inside its cage, telling me that mind-blowing fucking with Rafe might be good, but I don’t deserve it. “Actually, I apologize. I know it's a violation of Club rules, but I felt it was urgent to reach out to you.”

  “What?” I ask. “Did I not send in my health check?”

  “No, you did that just fine,” Mr. Robinson says. “Actually, it's that I was approached by a very . . . discerning member. He also knows that it's a major violation of Club rules, but he’s very persuasive. He wants to meet you. At The Club, of course, but he’s interested in setting up something outside. A long-term arrangement.”

  Seriously? I’m no fucking prostitute. I want to go off on him, but at the same time, I don’t want to risk my membership by cursing out the manager. Things with Rafe seem to be going great, but who knows if I’ll be able to keep myself under control? “You, more than anyone, know that’s against the rules.”

  “I know, but I also know that your finances aren't the best,” Mr. Robinson says. “A sugar baby setup could allow you to be much more comfortable. Just think about it. Think you could come by around nine, just to hear him out? No obligations.”

  I’m proud of the words that come out of my mouth. Proud of who I can be, the side that's become stronger over the past few months, and especially after my night with Rafe. “I'm sorry, Mr. Robinson, but tell him I'll pass. I'm comfortable as I am.”

  “And yet you like being very uncomfortable,” he insinuates, and my demon chuckles. “Well, I can't say I'm happy, but I understand. Enjoy your nine o'clock class this m
orning, Shawnie. See you tonight.”

  He hangs up before I can reply, fear gripping me at his last words. He knows all about me. He even knows my fucking class schedule. And the insinuation in the last sentence is even worse.

  Chapter 12

  Rafe

  The staff meeting was boring as usual, leaving me sitting in my office, tapping on the wood of my desk and chewing my lip. Melanie Petersen, who's covering some of the administrative load for me since my latest TA quit, looks up from the desk. “Is everything okay, Professor?”

  Professor. Ah well, I can't break her of that habit, and honestly, after Shawnie, I don't feel like worrying. “Just feeling bad about keeping you in here instead of doing your real job. How are the charity collections coming?”

  Every year, the College of Engineering does a charity drive in order to give a big gift right before graduation to some worthy cause. Unfortunately, engineers are pretty stingy fuckers, and engineering professors are even worse, so the gift isn't always all that big. “We've got four thousand dollars still to go on our goal,” Melanie says, shrugging. “It's okay though I guess. Better than last year.”

  I nod and reach into my desk drawer. I've still got the fucking thing around somewhere—I never did turn in my pledge form—and I quickly write down my credit card number and then fill in the amount. Folding the paper up, I walk over and set it in front of her and sit back down. She smiles and unfolds it, her smile disappearing when she reads the amount I've written in. “Ten . . . ten thousand?”

  “It’s for a good cause,” I remind her. “They need it more than I do.”

  Melanie stutters, then takes a deep breath and puts the form in with the others. “Thank you, Professor Meyers.”

  “Can I ask you for some privacy on this though? I’d rather be a silent giver. Got a reputation of being an asshole to uphold, you know.”

  “Sure, Professor. Is that all?” Melanie asks, and I shake my head. I can't tell Melanie anything about the war inside my head, the battle raging all morning since dropping Shawnie off and coming in to work. Half of me is saying that taking Shawnie home last night was just what we both needed, the other half of me saying I'm going too fast, that I'm risking her long-term mental health going this recklessly. But I can't help myself, which scares me all the more. I've never been out of control before. At least not over a woman.

  “Nothing you can help me with. So, has the dean found any new candidates for me?”

  “I'll go check, but I doubt it. Face it, you hit the jackpot last semester with Shawnie. She was always nice when she came by my office too. Too many of the TAs act like they're already professors and I'm just some dumb admin assistant. She never did that, and I loved her accent. Then you had to go and promote her.”

  I laugh. Melanie's always had a good sense of humor. “Well, having her just get me coffee was a waste of real talent. There's a lack of that around here.”

  “Maybe. Let me go put this form in, and then I've got some things I have to get done,” Melanie says as she gathers her things and leaves, and I turn my attention back to the problem at hand. Am I going too fast with Shawnie? And what am I going to do about Club Paradise?

  After my undergrad class and a quick lunchtime workout, my mind is still twisting as I enter the lab.

  I see that Simone and Dustin are arguing over the materials designs, which seems to happen pretty regularly with them. Part of me wonders if they wouldn’t be better off as lovers. “Hey, calm down, guys,” I interject before they can come to blows. That happened last week. I don't need it again. “Where’s Shawnie?”

  “She's been holed up in the simulator all afternoon,” Simone says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder to the broom closet-sized space. “Won't come out for anything.”

  “Okay . . .” I say worriedly. First, though, I need to handle the children. “You two, write up your arguments on both sides and send them to me. I'll look it over myself and make a decision if you can't find a common ground. In the meantime, let me see what's going on with Shawnie.”

  “Probably her time of the month,” Dustin grumbles, and I have to resist the urge to backhand the man. Rude is not something I normally care about. Hell, I’d be a hypocrite to. But this is Shawnie, and the side of me that's claimed her won't tolerate disrespect. Still, I just have to give him a look as Simone takes care of the slap in the head for me before I head on over to the simulator room, opening the door to find just a frozen screen on the displays, blue sky and clouds lighting up the pilot's seat but nothing happening.

  “Shawnie?” I ask, and she shifts around, sitting up and turning to look at me. One glance in her eyes and I see that she's in trouble, and I quickly close the door, locking it behind me. “What's wrong?”

  “I've tried . . . I've tried to control it,” Shawnie says, her voice soft but I can hear her plain as day in the soundproofed closet. “I tried to get work done, but I . . .”

  “Shh, it's okay,” I reassure her, coming over and sitting down in the tight space next to the pilot's chair. “What are you talking about?”

  Shawnie takes a deep, shuddering breath, then looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Do you think I'm pretty?”

  She wants to ask me something else I can tell, but she's trying. “Shawnie, you're beautiful. I thought I was pretty clear about that last night.”

  “Yes . . . made me feel that way for a while, but this morning, I was reminded of . . .”

  “Of what?” I ask, and Shawnie looks down, her hands twisting in her lap. I reach out and take her hands and hold them still, causing her to look at me, and I see a ghost of the evil woman that I fucked in Club Paradise flicker across her face before the miserable expression returns on her face.

  “His name was Chris Lake,” Shawnie says before she starts telling me her story. It's difficult at first, fits and starts as she pauses, but as she continues, her voice gains strength as if it's helping her unburden just to tell me.

  She tells me the things she didn't tell the cops, about how the drugs set her body on fire and what he did. “When it was over and Dane rescued us, they took me to the hospital, but when I came to, I wasn't alone anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, and Shawnie gulps.

  “I call it my demon, but I don't know if that's the real word to use,” Shawnie whispers. “It’s just what I call it. When I woke up, it wasn’t that bad, but as the days passed, it started whispering to me, reminding me of all the times I came from what he did to me. It disgusted me, but the voice kept bringing me back to it. It got to the point that I practically craved to be used, abused, and degraded. I looked for outlets to feed that need inside me. That’s when I found out about the Armory down in San Francisco, because they've got a website and they were easy to find. After a while, they kicked me out.”

  “Because they found out you're seeing a counselor,” I say, and Shawnie looks up, shocked.

  “How do you know about that?” she demands, pulling her hands away and looking at me with distrustful eyes. I swallow and think about revealing all of it to her, but this simulator isn't the place to do it.

  “Shawnie, I researched you after you came in for your TA interview. I saw something in your eyes, something that told me that . . . that you've been hurt. That you're trying to put yourself back together and not doing too good of a job of it. I have a few contacts. I've known for months about Chris Lake.”

  “So you know, but you still slept with me?” Shawnie asks, still stunned.

  It's time to drop a little truth bomb on her, not the whole truth, but enough. She's not ready to handle everything yet. “Shawnie, last night meant something. I know you felt it too.”

  “It was something I didn't think I’d ever feel again,” Shawnie says, reaching out with her left hand, putting it on my chest and rubbing. God, it feels so good, and she's so close. She wants me, right here, and I'm so tempted.

  “No, Shawnie,” I say, my voice uncertain as I gently but steadily hold her still, leaning back and putting h
er hand back on the armrest of her seat. “Not right now. Not here.”

  “Why not?” she asks, confused. “Don’t tell me you want to be my boyfriend and knight in shining armor or something. I haven't had one of those in a long damn time,” Shawnie says, her anger rising. “Besides, I think we both know I’m not worthy.”

  “You're not yet,” I say, hating myself for the three words because they hurt as much as they're needed. “But you could be.”

  Shawnie looks at me, stunned for a moment, before she gets up out of the seat and leaves the simulator, storming out of the lab. I want to run after her, to gather her into my arms and tell her that I'm in agony over what she's putting herself through. That the only thing I want to do is to heal her.

  But I can't heal her with just pretty words and kisses and comforting. Strength is built through hard work that breaks down muscle before the body rebuilds it in the restful times, and the same is true with Shawnie right now. Instead of racing after her, I force myself to walk casually into the thankfully empty hallway, where she's shivering and clutching herself. “Shawnie.”

  She turns back, her eyes blazing in desperation. “What do you want from me, Rafe? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

  I walk slowly to her, seeing the confusion and fear in her eyes. I'm forcing her to confront the other side of herself, and hopefully, giving her a reason to want to prevail. “What I want from you is the girl I know you can be. I've seen it in your papers, in your work in the classroom, in the lab. Last night, at my house, I saw it too. Free that person inside you.”