Taken_by_Chance_ARe_June14

by Chloe Cox

  “Mine,” he rasped.

  She felt her legs go weak.

  Without warning, Chance spun her around, his arm like an iron bar across her chest holding her immobile, and bent her slightly forward. He smoothed one hand across her butt, then spread her cheeks and pressed a finger against her anus.

  “Mine,” he growled.

  Lena’s body was jerking in slight, small random contractions, like parts of her were all ready to come right away, and all she could think of was how long it would be until he was inside her. Until he took all of those things.

  She felt his lips at her ear, his warm breath on her neck.

  “And I want what is mine,” he said.

  chapter 20

  Chance led her through his bedroom and on to his private playroom, his hand grasped around her wrists, not wanting to let go of her at all. Lena was soaring. She couldn’t think of anything better, of anything that could possibly have made her feel better than she did right now. Moments ago she’d thought Chance was gone, and she was freaking out about new pictures.

  Now she had Chance. Or Chance had her.

  He wants what’s his.

  Those words…

  She wanted to be taken. More than anything. And when she saw what was set up in this room, she sank into the slight fear and let it strengthen her arousal. Subspace was so freeing. So close.

  There was a wedge-shaped mat in the center of the room with a raised pillow on the high end, like one of those cylindrical pillows she remembered from yoga classes. There were little ledges on the sides, she guessed for her knees, and rings bolted in everywhere for…

  Restraints.

  She took a few deep breaths and knew she was wet.

  Chance walked over to the high end of the wedge and looked at her. “Come here,” he commanded.

  She did. She saw she was trembling as she did so, her mind feeling scattered, jumpy, not the empty calm she was so used to. Chance put a hand to her face, felt her neck, her chest, stroked her back.

  “Lena, I’m checking in,” he said.

  “Green,” she said without hesitation. She would get there. She needed to.

  He stared at her for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing. Finally, he said, “Put your knees here and bend over the pillow.”

  Even as eager as she was, there was something frightening about climbing up on a piece of equipment like this. It was like training hard to take a lone skydive in a remote place—when the moment came, the door open and the abyss below, even the most excited thrill junky would feel that fear. Lena was still eager to take the plunge. She saw immediately, as she positioned herself, that her legs were spread wide and bent as far as they would go, her heels jutting into her thighs, up near the level her chest would be at when she leaned over, her butt high in the air—leaving her more spread, more open, more vulnerable than she’d ever been before. He cuffed her ankles, and she knew she wasn’t moving.

  She could barely contain herself.

  She leaned into it, spreading her arms out in front of her, pressing her chest into the padded wedge and pushing her butt up in the air as high as it would go.

  God she wanted him.

  Smack.

  He’d spanked her once—just once. She started.

  “Don’t take liberties,” he said, caressing her ass. “This is mine.”

  Lena gasped, smiling, turning her face to the side and resting it on the padded surface.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he said.

  Lena did so, slowly. She wasn’t hesitant, but she wasn’t prepared for how much it would shake her balance—with her hands behind her back, she was completely, completely powerless. She had zero leverage. She couldn’t move, couldn’t struggle, couldn’t adjust, couldn’t do anything at all unless he did it to her.

  When she felt the soft leather cuffs go around her wrists, she could have sworn it was like he’d touched her clit. She moaned softly, silently begging him to touch her, and it got even worse when she heard him chuckle. She was so swollen that she hurt. Her pulse throbbed around her clit and she wasn’t allowed to move.

  Torture.

  “I can see that you like this, huh?” he said. “That’s good, because so do I. We’ll spend lots of time like this.”

  “Please,” she gasped. “Chance, I feel like I’m going to burst.”

  “Soon,” he said, and she felt the first drops of lube fall on her tight, exposed ass.

  She held her breath until she felt it. First his finger, insistent and firm, stretching her. Then the plastic, only bigger this time. Much bigger.

  Oh God.

  “Breathe out, bear down,” he ordered.

  Lena closed her eyes, exhaled, and pushed. It stretched against her until she thought it was too much, until it hurt and she was certain he’d made a mistake, there was just no way at all, it was impossible…

  “Oh!” she cried as he pushed it past the tight ring of muscle, filling her more than she thought she could stand. It wasn’t immediately comfortable, but she could feel herself starting to relax around it, to mold herself to this thing he’d put inside her.

  It was overwhelming.

  “You’re almost there,” he said, from behind her. “Soon, and I’ll have this, too. But for now…”

  Oh God, what was he going to do? Her nipples ached, her pussy ached, her body felt full and yet empty at the same time, and all she wanted was him. She knew that as soon as he entered her she’d hit that space, she’d hit that calm, and she’d be…

  She’d be all right.

  She didn’t expect the blindfold. It wasn’t such a big thing, not in the scheme of things, not considering how she was bound and spread and already at his mercy. But when Chance blindfolded her there was a sudden stab, a pang of panic, intruding on her, on their scene, taking her right out of it. Intruding on this thing she wanted so badly, this thing she needed—thoughts of the new photos.

  She’d been blindfolded and bound with Richie, too, and now all she could think about was what pictures he’d taken then. What else hadn’t she known about? Was she about to find out?

  And she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t stop her mind from going to this hated place, she couldn’t stop it from taking this scene away from her, and she wanted Chance so badly…

  “Lena.” Chance’s voice was the only thing to break through. She reached for it desperately.

  He said, “Red.”

  What?

  The blindfold came off. The cuffs came off. Slowly, so slowly, the butt plug came out. She didn’t move except to turn her head to look for Chance, only to find him by her side, lifting her gingerly from the wedge. He picked her up the way he had so many times before and carried her back towards his bedroom.

  “Chance,” she said, struggling to find her voice. “What’s happening?”

  “I used a safeword, sweetheart. I ended the scene, because you were not ok.”

  He settled them both in his favorite chair, holding her huddled against his chest, and it was then that Lena realized her heart was racing. Her limbs were cold. She was sweating a little.

  He was right.

  She was not ok.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Lena huddled against his chest, confused and bewildered. She hadn’t started to show symptoms of a panic attack until she’d been safe in his arms—something he had seen before. Some people functioned extremely well when exposed to a stressor and only felt the detrimental effects of that stress later, when they were safe. She was one of them. He wondered bitterly where she’d had to develop that particular skill.

  He’d first sensed that something was wrong when he’d brought her up to the wedge and looked in her eyes. There wasn’t anything concrete, and it he wouldn’t have been able to explain it if anyone asked, but he had known something wasn’t right. So he’d chucked his original plans out the window and focused on her.

  When he checked in and she gave that eager but unfocused “green,” he realized he’d have to go through the prepa
rations for a scene, as gently as possible, until she herself realized what was wrong. Or at least acknowledged that there was something was wrong—otherwise she would have experienced his stopping the scene as just another rejection.

  So he’d watched her. And it was the blindfold that put her over the edge.

  Chance tried to focus on the positive—he knew this would be a moment for her, that something was rising to the surface. She’d have something to tell him, and that meant progress. Probably.

  But he hated to see her upset. Loathed it. He couldn’t rub her back or kiss her forehead or hold her tight enough.

  “You ok to talk?” he asked her.

  “I think so,” she said, lifting her head off of her chest. “How did you know? I mean, I didn’t…I wouldn’t have said it, but you were right.”

  “You weren’t you. Set my Dom sense off.”

  She smiled. “Dom sense?”

  “With great power comes great responsibility,” he said sagely. He loved how Lena could circle in to something important, never forgetting her sense of humor. But now she was going to have to deal with the hard stuff.

  “What happened when I put the blindfold on you?” he asked.

  Chance expected to see stress in her eyes. But not fear. Fear directed at him. Whatever it was, she was afraid to tell him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Except that I do,” she said. “I am a total fucking hypocrite. I yelled at you for keeping things from me, and the whole time I was thinking, ‘You jerk, you’re keeping things from him, too.’”

  Big breath.

  “I’ve been getting these texts,” she said.

  A million things clicked into place at once. The way she would become stressed out of nowhere, the continued response to Paul Cigna as opposed to Richie Kerns…

  “Paul Cigna,” Chance said. He was very, very careful to keep his voice calm.

  “I assume. I don’t know. Unknown number.”

  Chance tilted up her face toward his again, determined not to let her hide from him—and she was hiding, like she couldn’t bear to see his reaction. Like she was afraid he would be mad at her. Chance was angry—Jesus, was he angry—but not at her.

  “Lena, stop being afraid,” he said, and let his thumb brush gently against her lower lip. “I’m not angry with you. I’m not disappointed. I’m worried. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I…”

  He’d stumped her. Those big hazel eyes were more open and raw than he’d ever seen them.

  “I didn’t want it to be real,” she said finally. “And I didn’t want to impose…”

  “You can’t impose on me, Lena,” he said. “No matter how hard you might try. I promise you that.”

  Chance was more distressed about that than he let on—his early attempts to be honest and upfront about what he believed to be his obligation not to get emotionally involved with Lena had contributed to this. He hadn’t known she had such issues about trusting people to stick around when he’d said all that crap, otherwise he would have framed it differently. As it was, though, it wasn’t like he could turn back time. He’d have to work to convince her he wasn’t going anywhere, but in the meantime, there was Paul Cigna to deal with. One problem at a time.

  “What did they say?” he asked her. She seemed relieved to move on to practical stuff, wiping at her eyes and getting some color back in her face.

  “I don’t know, like, taunting, I guess? Trying to get me to come out or comment on you. But the last one I got this afternoon—”

  While he was at the gym. Of fucking course.

  “—said there were more pictures. And I just kept thinking about what could be in them. If he took them when I was blindfolded.”

  He felt her stiffen first, as though just speaking the words aloud did, in fact, make it more real. Chance forced himself to calm down, to keep his own body relaxed, just because he didn’t want to add to her stress.

  But holy shit, he was pissed.

  This was the first time he’d felt that old urge to go destroy something evil while in the company of Lena. The first time he’d gotten the itch, the burning along his limbs, the tightness in his gut.

  “Chance?” she said, her voice tiny. “Please don’t—”

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid, Lena,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow this to continue, either.”

  chapter 21

  Chance had finally gotten her to sleep. He’d had to wait, buzzing inside like an entire hive of pissed off killer bees, while she finally let her own exhaustion overtake her and drifted off. And she was exhausted—hiding stuff like that put a strain on her, like it would anyone. Chance knew that from experience.

  But it wasn’t really the time to be laying more stuff at her feet. What he could do, though, was solve this particular problem for her. Emotional scars didn’t respond to threats from big, military-trained men. Cowards with cameras did.

  Chance pounded on Ford’s office door, thankful they’d had the foresight to give the lawyer an on-site office. He didn’t expect to find it full.

  “What the hell?” he said. Ford, Adra, and Declan Donovan were all looking at him like he’d caught them at something. He did not have time for this.

  “We were just putting together a plan for you to approve,” Ford said, getting to his feet. “We weren’t going to bother you until we had everything in place.”

  “Ford, I need an opinion on something. In private. Now.”

  The room chilled under the influence of far too much testosterone. Pissing matches between Doms were rare at Volare, mostly because Chance thought they were stupid and didn’t tolerate them, but it was instinctual to bristle at a challenge. They must have seen something in Chance’s face, because both Ford and Declan brought themselves down.

  “No worries,” Declan said, standing up. “Ford and Adra have agreed to help me rehabilitate my image, and I want the club to be part of it. Needs your approval eventually—I’m not going to bring the club into it without that. We’ll talk later.”

  Chance watched silently as Declan escorted a meek-looking Adra out, knowing he was being a complete dick. He didn’t really care at this point. More important things to do.

  “Ford,” he said.

  Ford’s gaze was still focused on Adra—or on Declan’s hand on the small of Adra’s back. The man did not look happy.

  “Ford, get your goddamn head in the game,” Chance said.

  “What do you want, Chance?”

  “I need to know what happens to the club if I get in trouble.”

  That got Ford’s attention. He ran his hand through his blond hair and sat back down, saying, “Well, shit. What are you talking about?”

  “There’s something I need to take care of,” Chance said.

  “I’m your lawyer, Chance. Don’t beat around the bush, it’s a waste of time.”

  “Paparazzi scum are harassing Lena. I’m going to stop them.”

  “Meaning?”

  Chance wanted to be able to say he was just going to scare them, or bribe them, or bribe them and scare them—whatever worked. That’s what his intent was, anyway. He gritted his teeth.

  “Meaning I’m going to find them and get them to stop. Dudes with cameras sometimes make a fuss about stuff like that, but I’m not putting up with this. What’s the club’s liability if they come out swinging or make accusations?”

  Ford shrugged. “If worse came to worst, you might have to resign for insurance purposes. But the club doesn’t have any direct liability. We’re not going to get sued if you go off and do something stupid on your own time.”

  “Excellent,” Chance said.

  A couple of phone calls, and Chance had the information he needed. Paul Cigna of the peeping camera and dipshit hat had been seen tailing Richie Kerns almost exclusively. And Richie had been spending his nights hanging out at Kendo, some new club where people tried hard to be
seen.

  Ergo, Chance was going to Kendo.

  He was also trying very, very hard to maintain that sense of calm. That Lena Zen. Because these were two douchebags who really deserved to face some painful consequences.

  And there one of them was: dumb blue hat, camera around his neck, cigarette in his mouth, hanging out on the corner like he wasn’t a piece of crap. Chance parked a block or two down and made for Paul Cigna in a direct line. He didn’t care if Paul made him, or if Paul ran. He’d catch him.

  Or, as luck would have it, he’d just grab him by the arm and drag him into the trashed alley next to the club.

  “Hey what the hell?” Paul sputtered. “Look, don’t take the camera, ok? I’ll go to the ATM and get…”

  And then he saw Chance’s face.

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, oh shit,” Chance said. “Call him. Right now. Get him out here.”

  “Who?”

  Paul actually looked like he thought that would work.

  “Don’t mess with me, Paul, it’s going to make me angry. Your buddy, Richie. Call him, get him out here, right fucking now.”

  Chance didn’t touch him. He just…loomed. And thought very hard about punching Paul in the gut.

  The message must have gotten through.

  “Yeah, ok, Jesus Christ. But he’s probably coked up. I can’t do anything about that.”

  They didn’t have to wait. Richie definitely had something going with Paul—otherwise they wouldn’t have been attached at the hip, and Richie wouldn’t have come spilling out the side door into an alley that smelled like piss and rot, all eager to talk to Paul.

  Well, eager until he saw Chance, anyway.

  “Paul, what the—”

  Chance shoved him into the dirty wall and held him there. Not hard. Just enough to let him know he could pick him up and launch him over the goddamn building if he felt like it.

  “I don’t want either of you to speak until spoken to. This is for your own safety. There is nothing I want more than to end both of you right now, so please, for all of our sakes, do not fucking test me. Say you understand.”