With This Ring, I Thee Bed

by Alison Tyler

  “Screw her!” someone murmured from a seat near the front.

  “Is it real?” hissed someone else.

  “Jesus,” said a female voice from just below the stage. “This is really hot.”

  The music grew louder and faster. Jake grabbed my breast through the tight, boned bodice, and I reached down below again, guiding him inside me. He shuddered as he filled me, and the pleasure of his length made me arch, head falling back. How I groaned to feel him thrusting, feel his teeth on my neck, feel the shape of him inside me growing harder every time, feel the wetness of my clutching sex, my fingers in his shirt, as his warm scent rose.

  “I’ve wanted you so long,” he groaned.

  I said I felt the same.

  I saw him glance out at the noisy crowd, who were muttering and gasping at our obvious display. There were excited whispers, ripples of chatter. Somewhere near the front, a man gave a groan. Turning back, Jake grabbed my face and kissed me, while his hips thrust harder and I spread my thighs wide. I pulled his shirt open, laying my palms on his chest, and felt the quick pummel of his heart.

  I tried to call him gorgeous, but only managed, “You feel…”

  The heat in me grew heavy like a perfect weight, burning, working deeper till I figured it would give—but no, it kept building as we bashed against that wall, our kisses now wet as my sex. The music burst into a growing crescendo, building and building, dramatic and loud. When at last I was so aroused that the nearness of my coming felt like pain, Jake began to fuck me in a beautiful stampede, and we groaned together, long and deep, the pleasure rolling through us. Only when it died did I notice I’d been drooling, with saliva trailing down my chin.

  The actors’ voices behind us fell, and the lights grew dim. It was the end of the first act. The audience applauded, but Jake didn’t move.

  “That was quite a performance,” I said.

  He didn’t return the joke. Instead, I felt him smoothing my hair from my face. “Don’t tease me, angel. Say you’ll come to dinner.”

  Gently, I told him I would. “We should go,” I added, “before the lights come up.”

  I felt him slide from me, then raise me in his arms so I gave a little gasp of surprise. And humming an aria, he carried me offstage, my wedding dress loose, my cheek pressed against his lapel.

  One Last Time

  Saskia Walker

  Why have you come back, Frank?

  The last customer had left and I slid the bolts home, closing the world out. We were alone. Turning my back against the door, I stared across the pub at him. He sat at the bar as he had all evening, brooding and watchful. When I’d gone about my business, serving the other customers, he’d followed me with possessive eyes, making no attempt to hide the fact he wouldn’t be leaving when time was called. I’d requested space and yet here he was, back again—and on a Sunday night when he knew it would be quiet and I’d be locking up alone. Frustration welled in me. Why did he have to make splitting up even harder than it already was?

  As I walked back to my post I was unable to stop myself from noticing the breadth of his shoulders through his worn leather jacket, the way his thick, dark hair brushed his collar, and the outline of his buttocks through snug jeans.

  “What do you want, Frank?” I stepped behind the bar, picking up the bar cloth as I went. Moving quickly, I rubbed it across the polished wood counter, trying to ignore him, but his hand shot out and closed over my wrist, halting me.

  My back stiffened and tension beaded up my spine. His demanding grasp made my heart trip. I silently cursed myself, because this is what he did to me, so easily. I was aroused by this simple action—an action that merely hinted at the immensity of his power and self-control. My resistance faltered, as he knew it would. My hand fisted inside his grip.

  “I want you,” he whispered.

  I tried to tug free, but couldn’t. “I told you, it’s over.”

  I’d told him that the week before, and he’d stared at me for the longest moment, then nodded and left. Not even a goodbye kiss. I’d shoved my emotional armor into place, but deep inside I was hurting, badly. And now, a week later, he was back. Did he want to say goodbye properly, or did he think I’d buckle and give in to him?

  “Mel, you also told me that you loved me.” His eyes blazed across the bar at me, so intense that I couldn’t look away.

  My chest tightened, my hand slackening inside his grip. I did love him, and I knew that would never change, but Frank’s a long-distance trucker and he loves the road. “I need a man who is there for me at the end of the day,” I responded, as levelly as I could, “not someone who passes through every couple of weeks to show me a good time.”

  “One last time, here and now,” he said. It was a statement of intent, not a request.

  Our eyes remained locked, and everything that had been between us surfaced in my memory. This man knew me, inside and out. He could tell what I was thinking, and his thumb stroked the side of my hand. Even though I knew it was wrong, heat pooled in my groin, my body anticipating him. I opened my mouth to object but my core clenched, showing me how much I needed him, and I couldn’t deny it. Instead of words, I heard only my own labored breathing.

  Taking charge, he pulled the cloth from my hand and cast it aside.

  Reaching into his pocket, he brought out his handcuffs and put them down on the bar between us.

  “Frank…” It came out on a whimper, because I knew that if he restrained me I’d be begging for him. That’s how it was. I tried to level my breathing, closing my eyes for a moment, before glaring at him. He knew my weaknesses far too well.

  When I looked back at him, he nodded at me.

  I withheld a plea.

  He clasped both my hands and drew them across the bar toward him, making me lean forward on my forearms. Threading the cuffs through the decorative brass rail that ran along his side of the bar, he made ready to tether me to it.

  “You may think that you can deny this thing between us,” he said, and I felt the cuffs slide into place. He paused, and I heard one click and lock, before he moved his attention to the other hand. “But I saw the way you were looking at me tonight, and I know that you want this is much as I do.” He clicked the second cuff into place.

  Frustrated by his ability to be so sure, when I was awash with doubt, I blurted out my feelings. “Of course I want this, but that doesn’t mean this is good for me. This is stopping me from meeting another man, a man I could settle down and make a decent home life with.”

  He didn’t respond to that.

  Instead, he put his thumb on my lower lip to stop it from trembling. I glared up at him, half in anger and half in pent-up desire. One corner of his mouth lifted and he stroked his thumb over my chin in a tender, affectionate gesture. Then he stepped away, and as he walked the length of the bar and joined me behind it, I swallowed down the mental resistance, because I did want him. Badly. That was part of the problem. When it came to Frank, I was an addict.

  Closure. This would give us both closure. I twisted my head and looked back at him. “Promise me, this is the last time.”

  “Promise.” Brushing one hand down my spine over the thin material of my top, he sighed aloud. “You’re such a turn-on.”

  Subtle, but it was enough to make me think about him, hard and thrusting into me. His presence looming at my back made me sway, and he grasped my hips, holding me still, taking charge. “What an invitation,” he teased.

  I hung my head, my hair falling forward. Positioned like this, with my arse sticking out and my chest against the bar, I was at his mercy.

  Standing directly behind me, he leaned so that I could feel his body against me, including the hard shape of his erection pressed against my bottom through our clothing. He rocked his hips from side to side, and I had to bite my lip when I felt just how hard he was. Then he pushed my shirt up and pressed a kiss against my spine. The sensation of his mouth there tantalized me. The brush of his lips, so brief yet so suggestive, made me
arch and sway again. Memories haunted me. One night he’d tortured me with love, securing my hands over my head and then kissing my body until I’d begged for release.

  “Beautiful, as ever.” He breathed along my skin, then slipped his hands under me, between my body and the surface of the bar. Cupping my breasts, he squeezed them through my top.

  Unable to help myself, I moaned aloud. His palms seemed to know just how to hold me for maximum effect, making my nipples harden and sting.

  “You were thinking about this, weren’t you, when you were getting ready to close up for the night?”

  “No,” I blurted, shaking my head.

  “I could see it in your eyes.”

  I hated him for being right, so I shook my head again, glancing back at him. “This makes it harder, every time we… It makes it harder for us to move on. You know that.”

  “Good.” I caught his smile, just before he pulled my skirt up my hips, exposing my bottom.

  Turning away, I silently cursed him. I could feel the weight of his stare on my exposed buttocks. Silence reigned, but for my heartbeat hammering in my ears. Then he sighed, loudly, and the sound ran ragged over my nerve endings. He slid one finger between my buttocks, before plucking at the G-string I was wearing. Squirming, I fought the rising urge to beg him to take hold of me. Conflicting needs assailed me. I wanted him, but I wanted this over with as well, because I needed peace of mind. Belief in my decision was getting harder to sustain by the moment. Reminding myself that I need companionship as well as hot kinky sex, I gasped aloud when he touched me again.

  “You’re very wet. Is this turning you on? Seems like it might be.”

  “Bastard,” I hissed.

  Laughing softly, he rolled my G-string down my thighs. When the scrap of fabric dropped around my calves and fell to rest over my high-heeled shoes, he touched my pussy from behind, riding one knuckle right against my entrance, teasing me.

  “Oh, oh, oh…please.”

  His finger moved lower, under me, and stroked my swollen clit. Once. “Please what?” he asked.

  “Please…touch me.”

  “Like this?” He plunged one finger deep inside me.

  It was fast, and it shocked me. My head snapped back, a loud cry escaping my open mouth.

  “Or like this?” He pulled out, and ran his now-slick finger over my clit. Back and forth, back and forth. Pleasure thrummed from his fingertip, fanning out through my groin. “Hmm? Which is it that you want, Mel?”

  “I…I want you.” Saying those words unleashed pent-up emotion, and tears blurred my vision. My hips undulated, my body pivoting against the point of contact, my climax closing.

  “Good girl.” His finger moved faster, and he was touching me with such confidence, such knowledge, that I was enslaved to it.

  I came, and it was so sudden that I cried out and bashed one knee against the back of the bar as I rose onto one foot, pleasure washing through me. Hot liquid wet the top of my thighs.

  That’s when he thrust his cock inside me.

  I hadn’t even heard his zipper because I was gone on my climax, but the feeling of his hot, hard cock filling me and stretching the walls of my sex made me thankful I was tethered to the bar. The cuffs and my heels were barely holding me upright. It was Frank who was anchoring me—anchoring me by joining us together, deep inside. Tears smarted in my eyes.

  “There’s nothing like this,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. Possessive hands stroked over my hips, holding me in place.

  “So you say.” I blurted it out, emotional and frustrated, and shoved my hips back at him, making a statement.

  Swearing under his breath, he locked his hands on my waist and rolled his hips back and forth—claiming me in deep, measured strides, showing me who was master.

  “Oh, oh.” My clit was still tingling, the heat in my womb making me want to roll and purr, and at the same time another climax was already looming. I was totally locked on to each thrust of his rigid cock inside me. And when he moved faster, I panted aloud and my sex went into spasm just as his shaft arched and swelled and jerked, over and over.

  I felt his hand on my spine, knew he was seeking balance and connection. My forehead was resting on the bar between my tethered arms, my breath rasping into my lungs.

  “I’m not done with you yet.” He bent over me and growled the words against my ear, his hands roving my breasts again as he did so, making my hardened nipples sting. I didn’t have the strength to ask what he meant. The action of his hands on me seemed to make my orgasm last and last, leaving me weak and trembling. My legs were all but buckling under me.

  He reached over me and unlocked the handcuffs, then lifted me upright against him. After turning me around he locked my hands together again with the cuffs, keeping me captive.

  I shook my head, shocked to the core. “You said one last time!”

  “I did.” He smiled. “I also said I’m not done yet.” His eyebrows lifted and his eyes were dark with humor. Renewed lust was oozing from his every pore. He reached into his pocket. I was about to ask what he meant when I saw what he was holding. The blindfold.

  Oh, no. I was done for.

  I watched him moving the fabric between his hands, wishing I didn’t want it quite so much. “You promised me, Frank.”

  He kissed me before he covered my eyes, and the touch of his mouth on mine made me lift my head toward him. “I hate you,” I whispered unconvincingly, when I realized what he’d done.

  “Hate me? Okay then, so you hate me… Now tell me you don’t love the way this feels.” He secured the blindfold behind my head, and then moved his hands lower, to cup my breasts again, and I could hear the teasing accusation in his voice.

  I swallowed hard, wishing I had the strength to deny it. I couldn’t. I loved the kink as much as he did. We were well matched in that department.

  “Stay with me for a few minutes longer, Mel. It’ll be worth it, you know it will.”

  It would. He’d done this once before, making me crazy for the sight of him. At the same time, he made me dependent on him, took me back to my flat and made love to me again. How could I not adore that?

  Whispering words of love that I didn’t know whether to believe or not, he lifted me into his arms. My head rolled against his shoulder. I was seeking his closeness. The smell of his leather jacket and his familiar cologne swamped me, making me drift on the moment. How long could I hold this inside me?

  He took me out the back door, and I heard the lock click as the door shut behind us. He put me into a car, but when I asked where he was taking me, he didn’t answer. A reassuring stroke of his hand quieted me, and I felt him put my bag down by my feet. He’d picked it up for me. That was thoughtful of him, I realized. Moments later he began to drive, fast. But not to my home.

  I knew it was the airport as soon as we arrived, recognizing the noise, the procedures. I stayed quiet, listening, trying to work out what he was up to. When he parked, he got out of the car, came to my side and drew me out alongside him. I rested my back against the cold metal surface of the vehicle, wanting to run away. What was he doing? Taking the blindfold off, he let me get my bearings. We were in a car park and I could see the lights of the airport terminal beyond. A courtesy minibus was parked up by the gates, waiting for passengers to transfer. Was Frank leaving now? Was this the real goodbye?

  After he unlocked the cuffs and threw them onto the backseat of the car, he reached into his pocket and held two passports up in front of me.

  His and mine.

  How the hell had he got hold of my passport?

  Then he held up two tickets. I saw that Saint Lucia was the destination printed on them. “I had some savings. Seemed like a good time to use them.”

  “You think I’ll fall back into line if you take me away on holiday?” He wanted to pour sugar on me.

  “It’s not just a holiday.”

  I couldn’t quite latch on to his meaning.

  He shrugged, somehow uneasy. “I’ve
sorted it out with your boss. He’s not expecting you back for two weeks. I have a suitcase packed with your gear. Your friends helped me…. Jackie got your passport and Louisa packed you a case.” He nodded at the car. “It’s in the back with mine.”

  There was something I’d never seen in him before. I tried to grasp what it was. He looked worried. Could it be true? Frank was worried about what he was doing? Doubt flickered in his eyes. It seemed as if the world hinged on this moment, and I wasn’t sure why.

  Fanning the tickets, he revealed a confirmation letter nestled between them. At the top of the printout I saw two words in large print—two words I never thought I’d see. I glanced away and then looked again. “Wedding package?”

  “Yes. We can have the wedding right on the beach. In the surf, if you like.” He was still tense as he spoke. “Mel, you laid down the law, and I decided. I want it all. I want to be everything that you need.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” It was the truth.

  “I want you to be my wife.” His voice was soft, and somehow insecure.

  Hope kindled inside me. A smile broke from somewhere deep in my chest. “You do?”

  Above us, a jet roared as it took off.

  He nodded. “I’ve traded in the truck, and I’ll be working for a local haulage company when we get home, short haul only. I’ll be home every night.”

  He locked eyes with me in that way of his, seeking my agreement.

  I nodded, nestling against him. He was my anchor. He kissed me then, and it was long, slow and hungry for more.

  “Now hurry up and pull yourself together,” he said gruffly, as we drew apart, “because I have to get the cases out of the car, and we’re late for check-in already.”

  I could hardly take it all in. “But I thought you said to night was the last time?”

  “It was. One last time, as we were.” His eyebrows lifted. “I had to know if you really wanted it to end, or if you still wanted me. Your body always lets me know that you want me. It’s a dead giveaway.” That twinkle was back in his eyes. “I knew this was the right thing to do, back there at the bar.”