Retribution (The Devil's Kiss)

by Gemma James

  “Will you whip me if I call you by your name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you stop if I tell you to?”

  A few seconds went by, and I heard him inhale. “Yes, but I don’t think you want to.”

  He was only partly right. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I felt as if I couldn’t.

  “Lift your arms,” he instructed, and clearly, that line of questioning was over. Whatever he had in mind, he was ready to begin.

  “Gage—” I broke off, cringing as I lifted my arms above my head. Had I slipped up on purpose? Did I want to test the new perimeters of our agreement?

  He chuckled . . . the bastard actually chuckled. He dragged the zipper of my dress down, his fingers lighting a fire down my back. My breath hitched when he bent and placed his hands on my thighs. His fingers were close to the wetness between my legs, tantalizingly close, and I bit back a moan as the ache spread. I couldn’t hold it in when his hands glided upward, palms caressing my stomach and breasts as he pushed the dress up my body and over my head. Gooseflesh broke out on my arms and traveled down my legs, and as he walked me forward a few more feet, I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  “Brace yourself,” he said, and I was clueless about what he meant until he pushed me against the cold, hard surface of what I assumed was a window. I gasped at the contact, and my nipples pebbled against the glass. I was probably visible to God knew who, naked except for a thong and heels, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the next moment . . . and whether he planned to unleash his sadistic or sensual side.

  He grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the glass, and something soft and silky encircled my wrists. “I’m going to whip you,” he said, voice gentle as the bindings tightened.

  His words elicited a deep freeze in my bones, much colder than the chill on my skin, and I replayed the agony of being struck for hours in my head. I tried to jerk away from the glass, but he’d tethered my hands to something. “Master . . .” The name tumbled out, a plea for mercy I knew didn’t exist within him. “Please, I can’t take another beating like that.”

  “Shhh . . .” He swept my hair aside and placed the heat of his mouth on my neck. “I’m not going to hurt you . . . much.” He left a wet trail down my back, and by the time he cupped my mound and slipped his fingers inside, I was dripping wet. He owned me there, with the simplicity of his touch, with the way he made my insides pulse around his fingers. Forgetting that I should be scared, I opened up for him and moaned.

  “I won’t lose control like I did last time.” He increased his strokes. In and out . . . in again, slowly caressing, dipping deeper until I started humming. Sweet tension spread from my belly to my limbs, and my breasts heated against the glass, no longer cold.

  I was on fire.

  Holy hell . . .

  I held my breath, knowing I was about to come, but he stopped.

  “Master—”

  Without warning, he shoved a gag into my mouth. “Quiet.” That single word, spoken calmly but with enough warning to let me know he meant business, silenced me more effectively than the gag. I wanted to beg and plead, but I didn’t dare, even though one important question screamed in my head; how could I say no if he wouldn’t allow it?

  “I want you to trust me,” he said, as if he heard the turmoil of my thoughts. “I know I’ve given you no reason to, but I’m going to change that. I won’t hurt you like I did last time, but I am going to punish you, and if you make a sound I’ll extend the punishment.” He ran his hands over my bottom. “Can you behave yourself?”

  I nodded.

  “Can you remain quiet?”

  I nodded again but doubted my ability to obey.

  “I’m giving you the chance to say no now, but once this moment passes, you’re mine.” He squeezed my ass, and I bit back another moan. “Shake your head if you want to say no.”

  Part of me pleaded with me to do it—the more logical, level-headed, self-respecting part. Just a simple shake of my head would stop this. I had power now. But what if I did . . . and he stopped . . . everything? God, I was pathetic. I wanted him so badly, I ached.

  My moment of escape passed, and he stepped away. The sound of him removing his belt made me cringe, and the whoosh of that familiar strip of leather reached my ears an instant before it hit my ass. I bit down on the gag to keep silent, though the pain wasn’t bad. Yet. It’d get worse; it always did. I jerked each time he struck my tender bottom and counted the lashes in my head. Fourteen . . . fifteen . . . sixteen . . . seventeen . . .

  My eyes flooded with unshed tears at twenty, and by twenty-five the first drop fell. I felt dirty and worthless—much worse then ever before, because I’d allowed this to happen this time. He’d given me a choice, and I was still restrained, trapped by my body’s need for him, helpless and at the mercy of his belt.

  Why hadn’t I stopped this? This was insane.

  A whimper escaped my throat, and he stopped. “Naughty girl.”

  I jumped when he pulled the thong aside and inserted a small vibrator between my damp folds.

  “Close your legs to hold it there. If you drop it, you won’t be allowed to orgasm tonight. And you won’t have my permission until I’m deep inside your ass.” He swatted my bottom to make his point. “Not a sound, Kayla.”

  He was the devil.

  I scratched at the window as he continued the lashes. In the back of my mind I realized he wasn’t putting all his strength behind them. I knew how unbearable a real whipping was at his hands, and this wasn’t it. But it stung like hell, and I held onto the sensation to keep from climaxing.

  I wanted him. Inside me, in my mouth. I didn’t care—I just wanted him, and fooling myself otherwise was a waste of time.

  “Your ass is such a sexy shade of red.”

  Smack!

  Unforgiving leather delivered punishment for several more minutes, and just when he was about to stop, I’d moan or whimper and it’d start all over again. The pain was harder to handle, more intense, as were the vibrations going through my body. Tears and sweat drenched my face, and I stood straight as a pillar, clenching my thighs to keep the vibrator in place. Orgasm teased from the outskirts, there . . . but just out of reach.

  The pain overshadowed the pleasure.

  I bit hard on the gag as the last few minutes drove me to my limits. Finally, he dropped the belt. “Keep that vibrator where it belongs.” He bent me over and pushed into my ass, inch by inch, and I didn’t even consider protesting.

  A loud boom sounded outside, followed by another, and another . . . he slid in further, removed the blindfold and gag, and a guttural scream tore from my throat. I arched my spine as an orgasm washed over me—swift in the onslaught, but deliciously long in duration. The Las Vegas strip exploded in a dizzying whirl of color, and I knew the fireworks outside couldn’t begin to compete with the ones between Gage and me.

  8. GAMBLE

  The man liked to gamble. A lot. He’d been at it for most of the day, and if I’d harbored any guilt about the amount of money he’d spent on Eve’s care, I didn’t now. I was disgusted at how easily he threw away his money, but I couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination.

  So this was how the other half lived. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  The guy next to us arranged the dice the way he wanted them. His blond hair brushed his collar, and every time he leaned forward to roll, his shirt sleeve grazed my arm. He shot a grin at me before tossing the dice toward the opposite end of the craps table. The large crowd pressed in on all sides, and everyone erupted in cheers.

  “Easy six!” One of the gaming attendants said.

  Gage just won some of this money back. He leaned against my back and reached in to collect. We’d been standing in this position for the past hour; him behind me, his arms caging me in and his cock nudging my ass. He’d been rock-hard the whole time, and not even the man next to us, with his bold and inviti
ng smile, distracted Gage from his desire. I tensed every time the guy aimed his flirtations in my direction, but so far Gage hadn’t unhinged.

  But he was about to.

  His rum-scented breath drifted across my bare shoulder, and he brought his lips to my ear. “If he looks at you like that one more time, neither of you are going to like the outcome.” He pushed his erection into my left butt cheek a little harder and tightened his arm around my waist. “Quit being so damn sexy.”

  Of course, in Gage Channing’s twisted mind, this would be my fault.

  Poker chips were dropped and picked up, clacking together in the triumph of a win, and excited chatter charged the air as everyone prepared for the next come-out roll. Mr. Big Flirt did something stupid; he touched me.

  “It was all you, baby! You’re my lucky charm!” His fingers circled my wrist, and he wrenched my arm up in the air, as if we were champions celebrating a win.

  Oh no. No, no, no . . .

  Gage clamped his fingers around the guy’s wrist and squeezed until my hand fell free. “Touch her again, and I’ll break off your fucking fingers.”

  The guy shrank back, his eyes going wide. I couldn’t blame him. If Gage hadn’t so effectively trapped me between him and the table, I would have done the same thing. I didn’t have to see his face to know his features were twisted in rage.

  “Dude, you need to chill out. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  One of the table attendants interrupted their argument. “Is there a problem here, Mr. Channing?”

  “Yes. This asshole thinks it’s okay to harass and paw at my date.”

  And that was the last I saw of Mr. Big Flirt, though his indignation at being escorted away like a criminal lingered. Just like Tom’s had at work. Hating how everyone’s focus was drawn to me, I pushed away from the table. “Let me out.” I cranked my neck and glared at him. “Right now, Gage. I’m not kidding.”

  He backed away, and I bolted. Tears threatened to spill over as I weaved through the multitude of gamblers. Heavy smoke drifted in the air, which only made my eyes burn more. Gage caught up to me at the elevators. We both entered, and I kept my attention fastened on the doors, unwilling to look or speak to him.

  And he didn’t speak to me.

  I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when we got back to our room, but it couldn’t be good. Would he be able to see through his haze of red to hear me say no? Or was I in for another horrendous beating? Hysteria rushed up and lodged under my breastbone, and I could hardly breathe as the doors slid open at our floor. He dug his fingers into my arm and dragged me to our suite. My face was already wet with tears.

  “Please, Gage—”

  “Shut up.”

  He swiped his card, the light flickered green, and the beep signaled the beginning of what I knew was going to be a hellish night.

  “I’m saying no,” I said as soon as he shoved me through the door. “Wha . . .whatever”—I swallowed the vomit rising in my throat—“whatever you’re gonna do, stop.”

  The door slammed, and he pushed me against it. “I said shut up.” His hands shook, which only intensified the terror fisting my heart. “What I’m going to do,” he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth, “is kiss the fuck out of you.” He tangled his hands in my hair, leaned in, and sighed against my lips. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  No, but I should have.

  It was my only thought as he took control of my mouth. Hot tongues swirling together, the taste of rum on his lips, the way he moaned my name before sucking my lower lip between his teeth, and his fingers tightening in my hair, pulling against my scalp—every sensation zipped through me like a firefly. I should definitely have a problem with this.

  I couldn’t recall the space of time between the door and the bed, but the mattress welcomed the weight of my body, and Gage blanketed me, his mouth never leaving mine, never failing to suck the free will from my soul with the poison of his kiss. He grabbed at my dress, ripping and tearing, and his frantic fingers clutched handfuls of me; my hips, my thighs, shoving my legs wide open, pushing my knees up an instant before he slammed into me. He was like a beast, desire his claws, and I came apart under his lethal need.

  “Gage!” I urged him deeper, spreading my thighs further and arching to meet him. He pressed high into me, so high all I could feel was him.

  He grunted, his forearms shaking on either side as he pumped. “Who am I, Kayla?” He plunged one more time, violently, and then went still.

  I met his gaze—maniacal eyes possessing me—and shuddered. My heart feared him, but the gate of my sexual need was manned by him, owned by him.

  And he knew it.

  “Say it, or I’ll stop right now and cuff your hands to the headboard. I’ll make you edge all night until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

  “Master.” I tilted my hips upward. “You’re my Master. Don’t stop.”

  With a growl, his body engulfed mine, smothering and consuming, and the only thing more painful than being devoured so thoroughly was the sound of my unrestrained moans, a traitorous testimony of his control over me. My need for him ripped from my throat and poured from my being with every thrust.

  And then I was chanting his name. “Master . . . Master . . . Master . . .” Moaning and moaning and moaning. “Master . . . Master . . . Master.” More moaning, more thrusting . . . and he was getting off on every sexual plea.

  I was getting off on him.

  I dug my nails into his shoulders and scratched my unbridled desperation down his back, on the cusp of splintering. It was right there for the taking—and with stunned frustration, I realized why my body wasn’t shattering.

  I was waiting for his permission.

  “Let me come, Master.”

  He groaned. “Say it again. Tell me how bad you want it.”

  I grabbed fistfuls of bedding, and a pitiful, keening cry broke loose. I rose to meet him, again and again, and gasped my plea. “Please! Give me permission, Master!”

  He groaned again, an unrestrained sound that vibrated to my core. “Fuck, woman, I’m never letting you go.” He gripped my head and forced my gaze to his. “Come for me.”

  I fell into oblivion.

  His sapphire eyes drank me in as I came undone, holding me prisoner in their depths until the last wave carried me to a place only he could send me. I was gasping, struggling just to breathe, when his control began to slip. I watched him in wonder, in awe by the raw pleasure twisting his features. We’d never been so close as we were in this moment; he’d never allowed himself to go like this, had never allowed me to see it. He buried himself to the hilt, and his forehead fell against mine.

  “Kayla . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. “Baby . . .”

  I buried my hands in his hair, fingers brushing the sweat at his nape. The sound of his vulnerability was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. He cried out, hoarse and powerful, sensual and conquering, a sound of unstoppable release that poured out of him as he spilled into me.

  9. LION'S DEN

  Gage gave me the ultimate Vegas experience on our last night in Sin City. Cirque du Soleil, a ridiculously expensive dinner at Guy Savoy—even a helicopter tour at nightfall. He was the epitome of charm, from the way he opened doors for me to the way he guided me with a hand to the small of my back. All the women we came in contact with flirted with him, and he fooled them all into believing the facade.

  He’d even fooled me, for a while. But then we’d boarded his jet, and he’d reverted back to the same old Gage by pushing to me to my knees. And I hadn’t protested. I’d grown wet between my legs as I swallowed every last drop of him. That was how he’d left me on my doorstep—hot and wanting him, despite the chilly late night air. With one final kiss, a quick brush of his lips to mine, he’d disappeared from my life. Just like that.

  That had been two weeks ago.

  He’d transferred me to another department the week following our trip, and there’d been no phone calls or demand
s. He hadn’t sought me out once, other than to send a copy of our voided contract. Now I was a bewildered mess because his actions disappointed me. I couldn’t explain it—this hollow in my chest he’d left behind. I wanted my freedom, and I still despised him for the way he’d hurt me, but . . .

  I missed him. I missed the way he consumed me, missed the way he sent me crashing into deep space. I thought about scheduling an appointment with a shrink, but the thought of divulging the cause of my stress humiliated me too much. He’d used and abused me, and now that he’d let me go, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  And all the while, Ian stood by, kind, understanding, and displaying the patience of a saint. He’d stopped by every day to see me—at the hospital, at home, even after work. But we didn’t talk about it. Gage sat between us, an unspoken entity. My horror at what I’d done—at how easily I’d succumbed to my desire for Gage—made me keep Ian at arm’s length.

  I wiped the unsettling thoughts from my mind as the elevator approached the fifth floor. The doors slid open, and as a tall brunette entered, I let the tension slowly seep from my body. The doors narrowed toward the center, but a black dress shoe stopped them from completing their slide. Gage's eyes met mine. I sought the farthest corner and tried to fold myself into it—obviously my body understood the threat he represented, even if my heart didn’t, and my heart was beating like a caffeinated little drummer boy.

  The elevator stopped at the third floor where the woman got off and left Gage and me alone. The air was instantly stifling, heavy with fear and the undeniable spark of sexual tension. I jumped when he moved and studied my shoes upon the funny look he gave me.

  “How's Eve?”

  “She's good. They’re letting her come home tomorrow.”

  A smile broke out on his face—one so rare I wanted to snap a picture just to have proof that Gage Channing was capable of such a grin. “I’m glad.” The doors opened into the parking garage, and without another word, he exited.

  I puzzled over the strange encounter as I approached my car, heels tapping an echo through the deserted garage. Gage backed out of his spot and disappeared through the exit, and as I opened my car door, a voice from behind stopped me cold. I jumped and whirled.