She rested her fingers on his leg, and let her nails scrape along the length of his thigh muscle. He tensed at her touch, and she felt him pull at the binds. “How is the head?” she asked.
“Throbbing like a bitch, thanks to you.”
“I can make it worth your while.”
“There’s nothing you can do to make it worth my while,” he snapped.
“Are you sure?” she breathed, bending low and letting the wisps of air from her mouth brush along his belly. She could see the raised, puckered skin thanks to the goosebumps her breath incited. She saw the clenched belly muscles and the tension that throbbed through his body at her proximity.
His reaction to her, so basic and primal, couldn’t have pleased her more.
And his taste, oh dear Lord, his taste set her soul alight when she dipped her tongue along the crease of his obliques and finally tasted him. It was like coming home. Her senses flowered with the glory of him, desperately craving more.
Hovering over his groin, she felt firsthand his reaction to her caresses. She didn’t gloat, nor did she boast, that was for later. Now was the time to coerce.
She’d never trusted anyone enough to ever bare herself in this way. Why Martinez got to see this side of her, when he was a ruthless sociopath, and along the way she’d met nice, decent guys, was just a quirk of fate.
His inner monster and hers apparently had a crush on each other.
Shuddering at the thought—in revulsion or delight she wasn't sure and was in no state to analyze—she swept her hands down to pull the shirt aside, grabbing her sparse breasts and tunneling them around his hardening shaft. He grunted, and the sound made her clit throb. That one noise, barely there, a faint whisper, was him rattling at the cages of his control.
The notion had her sucking in a breath as her nipples tingled when they brushed the silken skin of his cock. As she caressed the shaft, she tilted her head down and opened her lips, letting the glans pierce her mouth. That pre-cum was already dotted there, regardless of the situation, had power throttling through her system. Her pussy, already moist from her arousal, slickened that little bit more in reaction to those salty drops on her tongue.
His muscles bunched as his body arched, his hips pivoting down into the mattress as though intent on escape. She could hear the silk creaking but had faith in the ties—anything that cost as damned much as those scraps of fabric did, had to be durable.
She released her breasts and slid her lips further down his cock. The shaft pulsed against her tongue in a delightful beat, one that she knew was timed with his heart. She sighed shakily, savoring the taste of musk and man. Her tongue tingled as it caressed the veins roping around it, each nuance of texture, of hardness rippling against softness, garnered her attention. She nibbled and sucked, cautiously bit and licked.
Eva worshiped his cock, rubbed it against her cheeks reveling in the contrast in sensation. She kissed and supped, made taunting licks, little laps that teased.
She didn't do it on purpose. She let instinct guide her. Instincts had been her only friends since adulthood, and she was inexperienced enough to figure that her body would know what to do even if she didn't have the actual know-how.
It worked.
With each press of her tongue or lips, the muscles in his belly strained, his hips rocked faintly, and he was stubbornly silent. She knew enough to recognize a man refusing to let go, refusing to concede defeat.
And this was a battle.
She embraced it for what it was, gloried in it, because it was war.
Her control against his. Her power rubbing against his own.
“Goddammit, woman!”
The roar had her flinching with the shock of it, but immediately, warmth spread through her.
She hummed against his cock, letting it trail over her cheek before using her fingers to tighten around the base. “Yes?” she murmured, letting the vibration of the word rumble against his shaft.
“Suck it. Fucking suck it.”
His command had her pussy clenching down. “Now why would I do that?”
His bellow said it all, but his hips jerked up. “Suck it.”
She lapped at the glans again, trailing her tongue down, down until she reached his balls. Nipping at the tender flesh, she whispered, “Ask politely.”
Martinez's hips bolted down into the bed. His legs strained either side of her, she felt his knees work, trying to free himself from the ties.
“This isn't the first time I've tied a man down,” she remarked, letting one of his balls slurp into her mouth. She sucked down hard, and when she heard his hiss, let it pop out.
The last time she'd had a man in this position, his remaining tied to the bed had life or death repercussions. For her. There was no way he was getting free.
“Please,” he gritted out eventually, his dislike throbbed through the one word. “Suck my cock.”
“Will you come if I do?” she asked curiously, wrapping both hands around the stalk again and kneading it with gentle touches that had the sinews in his throat popping out.
“If you don't want me to come, then don't do that,” he hissed, his head falling back into the cushions.
Undecided as to what she did actually want, she stopped teasing and, finally, closed her lips around the glans. She gathered saliva in her mouth, worked her tongue back and forth until she could easily suckle his cock. Eva reveled in each grunt and groan, cry and holler. She felt his tension. It increased her own and made her blood pump a little harder, her heart beat that much faster.
She sucked his shaft like she did everything else in life.
With grit and determination.
It wasn't a blow job. It was a fucking marathon she needed to win.
She slurped down his pre-cum, reveling in it, because each drop was more evidence that she'd broken him. When his hips tried to drive his cock deeper into her mouth, she pulled away completely, setting the tip against her lips. “Do that again, and you won't come at all tonight.”
Her warning triggered a frosty silence, but she'd expected that.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand,” he spat.
“Nicely.”
“Yes, Eva, I understand.”
“No. Not Eva. Lucia. Say it.”
“Yes, Lucia. I understand.”
“Good.” She rewarded him by swallowing him whole. It wasn't easy, if anything, it was hard. It wasn't like she was a champion blow jobber. The last time she'd done this had been on her third and final boyfriend. He'd always come when she did it, but twenty-year-old guys did, didn't they?
Martinez was anything but inexperienced. He was very aware of his own power as a man, of his own sexuality, and his attraction to the opposite sex.
And yet, she seemed to be doing something right.
His panting breaths were a hotline to her cunt, and she could feel the juices slipping from her sex, coating the outer lips, readying herself for him.
It had been so long since she'd felt arousal, so long since she'd experienced something so basic, so simple, she was relieved it was dark and that he couldn't see the tears pooling in her eyes.
To reward him for making her feel, she took him whole, swallowing him down, enjoying the tightness of the fit. She bobbed her head, scraping her teeth against the vein that throbbed in the tight clasp of her lips. As she tongued the pulsing flesh, she felt his belly clench down. Out of nowhere, tension invaded him, and realizing what it was, she quickly grabbed his balls in her fist, squeezed and twisted. Not enough to hurt but to make him hiss.
Lucia let his hips rock as he worked himself down from the high, and if anything, she enjoyed those moments as he fought to get himself back under control.
She made him crest the wave three more times, never letting him find release, always bringing him back before it was too late. Each and every time she did, her cunt grew wetter. She continually had to fight back her own need, her own arousal. Hers was on a direct line to his, and each time she d
enied him release, the fires in her belly grew hotter.
When Lucia started the entire process again, he gritted out, “¿Me quieres matar?”
“No, I'm not trying to kill you,” she whispered, inordinately pleased that he'd reverted to his mother tongue. Another sign of his loss in control. She kissed the tip of his shaft in reward.
“¿Seguro?”
Her laughter was husky. “I'm sure.”
His words pumped her full of confidence, enough so, that she could move away from his cock and straddle his hips. Letting the scorching heat of her pussy brand his shaft, she murmured, “Do you promise not to come until I let you?”
He froze at her words. “Why?”
“Because if you don't, I won't let you climax at all.”
Her snapped retort had him rearing up against the ties. “Let me go.”
“No.” She rocked her hips, letting her wet heat touch him. When he groaned, she murmured, “Why do you want me to let you go? All you want is right here.”
Lucia pressed her hands to his chest then reared up so that her cunt hovered less than half an inch away from his cock. She was slick, so incredibly ready that once again, she felt like crying.
The last time a penis had been this close to her, she'd been drier than the fucking Sahara. Terror had filled her, rage and fury, the certainty that death was approaching.
But with his bitterly whispered, “I promise,” she could feel fear at what was about to happen, but she felt flushed with confidence too.
Martinez was secure in his sexual attraction, in his power against the opposite sex. He was a man, supremely aware of his prowess. That might have made him an arrogant prick, but he wasn't actually. That inbuilt confidence was appealing. His sureness was attractive.
But in this, here, she controlled that man.
A man who ruled an empire.
She wasn't the scared woman of before, she was the powerful woman of now.
That empowered her. For the first time since she'd broached adulthood, the idea of sex didn't make her cringe. It made her feel flushed with success.
A long hiss escaped her as she rocked her hips along his shaft, letting each nuance in shape caress the length of her pussy. Each time she nudged her clit, she let the power of the moment flush through her veins, finding that as pleasurable as the physical sensation of his touch.
“¡Dios mio!” he cried out, his voice thick.
The throaty sound rocked her from her focus, and she'd have chided him if the guttural noises he made didn't scorch her ear drums with delight.
She reached down, grabbed his shaft, and pressed the tip of his cock to the entrance of her body. He was bare, and she knew it. She knew what this could result in. Lucia could feel Martinez's control had broken, had heard it snap the second time she'd denied him orgasm. He wasn't thinking, but she was.
This, tonight, might be the only time she would ever get pregnant without a sperm bank.
She didn't necessarily want to be pregnant, if anything, she'd be a shit mother. Who wanted a fucked-up weirdo for a parent? Hell, two fucked-up monsters as a part of the gene pool. But, she was selfish enough to live and let die.
The fates had brought her to this moment. Every choice and every decision had made it so that she'd be here, now, riding this man.
As she let his cock pierce her cunt, she gave fate free reign.
Mother or not, she'd let the gods decide.
But as she gradually impaled herself on his dick, any and all thoughts dispersed like a rainbow through sunlight. Her body focused, pinpointed on the area where she was being invaded. It responded to each and every minute movement, jerked in reaction to the thickness filling her, spreading and widening her, conquering her even though she was in control of the motion.
It hurt, even though she was wet, so slick with arousal each rock of her hips made a slight noise, but she was tight. He was big.
She made herself continue until their pelvises brushed. She took him as deep as the position would allow, and for all the power of the moment, the discomfort detracted from her physical pleasure, but not from the mental or psychological, and that was even more thrilling.
Beneath her, Martinez writhed.
It was the only way she could describe it.
Lucia knew this had never happened to him before. He'd never have allowed himself to have his control taken away from him, and he would never have denied himself the way she had done.
This was unique for him, as unique as it was for her.
She'd given him this. Not that he'd thank her for it in the morning, but she didn't intend to stick around to find out what his reaction would be. And with each gritted out moan, and each creaking sound that came from the neckties he tried to escape, she felt the physical discomfort ease.
Mind over matter.
The thought made her grin, and it was enough to make her start to arch her hips, and start to ride him.
She was slow at first. Steady. The position was new to her, and the last time she'd been on a horse, she'd fallen off. So yeah, this wasn't exactly as easy as reciting the alphabet.
Pressing her hand to his chest, she used him as support. Letting him help even though he was tied down under her command.
The notion had her rocking her hips a little faster, taking him in deeper, enough to make her hiss as his cock touched parts that had been left alone for far too long.
She let herself embrace the power of the moment, let herself enjoy the freedom.
“Touch your clit,” he ordered from beneath her.
She froze at his words, not liking his tone, but before she could chide him he continued, “You won't come like that. Not without touching your clit. Do it.”
She didn't want to listen. Out of sheer orneriness. But she did want to come, and he sounded so certain it would work. She masturbated, but the sensations provoked created more of an itch than it tended to scratch, so she found it easier to push her needs aside, to ignore them.
That was not for tonight, however. Tonight was for new experiences.
Tentatively, she touched herself. Her slickness was more evident against her fingers, and the sloppiness helped. She rubbed the nubbin, pinched it, frigged it. With each and every caress, her eyes widened, her breath grew shorter as an electrical current surged through her. Like nothing she'd ever known before, it turned her nerves to fire, made her blood boil, had her body singing with an unknown song.
Her hips rocked simultaneously, growing faster and faster as needs assailed her, new needs, exciting ones.
She screamed when it hit her. When the conflagration struck, razing everything she thought she knew about pleasure to the ground, ready for it to be built up again.
Beneath her, he cried out, mumbled Spanish words pouring from his lips as his cock plunged into her from beneath, fucking her even though she was on top, but the orgasm still frazzling her brain was powerful enough to keep her silent. To keep her introspection focused inward rather than outward.
His hissed curses lashed her skin with a delicious heat as his cum scorched her from the inside out.
And that was how Lucia Kingston had her first, and probably last, orgasm.
Chapter Nine
Sneaking out of the building hadn't been all that hard. In fact, it had been easy.
Last night, when she'd realized she couldn't let Martinez take control of her, not without putting the very precarious state of her sanity in jeopardy, she'd figured this would be the hardest aspect of the plan. When, actually, it had been the easiest.
With the gang not knowing she was the traitor in their midst, she'd been accorded the same hospitality as always. And when Bernardo, a veterano—a hardcore member of the gang whose life revolved around the Lobos—had seen her leaving Martinez's rooms at three in the morning, he'd just grinned at her and watched her leave. Sure, a knowing look had most definitely been buried in those chestnut brown eyes, but he hadn't said a word.
Not that it had come as a surprise. The gang was unus
ual to most of its kind. It was something she'd noted early on.
Rape culture was usually part and parcel of this society. Sexual assaults were normalized among the female members of gangs, and violence against women threaded through daily life.
Insignia, such as ink and jewelry, was worn at all times, and children were recruited from early on in regular gangs.
The Lobos were, of course, different.
Any lobo found abusing his girl? They were taken aside, and justice was meted out by the higher ranks. Martinez's respect for women was such that lobas, the female members of the gang, were not only the mules, traffickers, or shoplifters. Used to hide drugs or guns. They were an integral part, a cog in the wheel. It was why she'd been able to become a high-ranker in the Lobos. Martinez's unusual belief system was well-known to the cops, and they'd believed it more likely for him to trust her thanks to his unusual attitude towards women.
The thought process hadn't been wrong. Women, and the treatment thereof, were his Achilles' heel.
No children were a part of the Lobos. Martinez relied on his members' families for recruitment, but not until they were eighteen. In some of the poorer neighborhoods of the city, where some of the gang lived, he'd heavily invested in outreach programs to give hope to the kids and send out the message that gang life wasn't the sole option open to them.
Two months before she'd escaped the Lobos, an uncle had been found trying to force his eleven-year-old nephew to wear the wolf earring the gang members were known for. Martinez had visited the boy himself—she knew, because she'd been with him at the time on guard duty—he'd told the kid there was more to the world than just the Lobos. He'd also threatened the uncle, and the others in the family, that if word got back to him about children being recruited, he'd have their kneecaps blown in.
The threat, not unsurprisingly, had been very successful.
Gang insignia was worn in jewelry. Not in ink. If anything, Martinez had his higher-ranking members in suits and ties rather than the regular gangbanger gear. Only the foot soldiers wore the regular shit—the hoodies and baggy jeans that showed more of their ass than covered it.
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