He spoke before he’d fully opened the door. “Which one do you want this time, Redfield?”
Bree stood on the front stoop. The circles under her eyes were darker than normal, accentuating the paleness of her skin. She wore the same clothes she’d had on last night, the blazer creased.
“Bree, what the hell’s wrong?” He pulled her inside. She had never shown up at his house without calling first. “Is your father okay?” Idiotic question, the man was dying.
“Everything’s fine,” she said without meeting his gaze, her eyes fixed on the tile floor of his entryway.
He took her chin, forced her gaze up, but all she did was lower her lids slightly to shut him out. “The fuck it is. Something’s wrong. Tell me,” he insisted.
His mind whirled. He was helpless. She was here, yet he had no idea what to do for her.
“I was a very bad girl, Master.”
Screw the goddamn games for now. “Tell me what the fuck happened, Bree. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t tell me.”
“After you left me last night, I went to a sex club and let two men have me.”
Her words slammed his chest so hard, he had to step back.
She kept her eyes downcast like a penitent. “I need to be punished, Master. Please punish me.”
What the fuck? She couldn’t have. Not after that perfect night together. “Goddamn you,” he whispered, the words harsh in his aching throat.
“I know how disappointed you must be in me, Master.” She went to her knees on the cold, hard tile, hands behind her back, and lifted her face to him, yet still without actually meeting his gaze. “However you need to punish me, Master, you must.”
“Did you fuck them?” Christ, even the question burned in his chest. How could she do that?
“Would that be the worst I could do, Master?” she said so softly he had to strain.
The worst? Letting another man touch her made him fucking crazy. But the worst? “Did you let them make you come?”
She raised her head, and for the briefest of moments, her gaze locked with his. Then she dropped her head in supplication. “Yes, Master. Over and over.”
Christ, she wanted to drive fucking nails into him. He gritted his teeth.
“They forced me down and made me do it. I couldn’t help it, Master. I know how angry you must be, how disappointed. That’s why I need to be punished.”
She was forcing him to it, making him nuts. “Get in the fucking living room.” Christ, she’d ripped a hole right through him, but he still wouldn’t let her knees bruise on the tile floor. She scrambled to her feet, almost ran to the living room, which was to the right of the hall, taking the two steps down to the plush carpeting.
“On your knees. Don’t look at me. Face away.”
She did his bidding almost eagerly, going down before the teak coffee table as if it were an altar.
Too eagerly. Through his haze of anger, he began to see, to think. The back of her blazer was a mass of wrinkles, the fine strands of her hair tangled. As if she’d slept in her clothes.
Something had happened. He’d seen that clearly in the wildness of her eyes during that brief look they’d shared.
But was it what she’d told him?
Her father’s imminent death was pushing her to the breaking point. Maybe she’d walked in on something in that house—a seizure, coughing up phlegm or blood from his lungs—and it had pushed her over the edge, sent her running to her old way of life before Luke found her.
Or maybe the whole ordeal had sent her running here with a story designed to make him crazy, to force him to punish her.
He stared at her back, her muscles rigid with tension. Yes, she would lie to him, incite him to get what she needed. She would think long and hard about what would set him off. If her need was great, she was so very capable of using his emotions against him. If something was very, very wrong.
Luke closed his eyes, ratcheted back his anger. She wouldn’t accept what he thought she needed. So he would provide what she wanted, no gentleness, no comfort, just the solace of submission. He couldn’t deny her that.
“Do not move. Do not turn,” he ordered.
He had toys in the bedroom, vibrators, plugs, scarves, cuffs, ropes, blindfolds. She required something more elemental.
He found the perfect implement in a bottom kitchen drawer. Back in the living room, he stood behind her. “Cross your wrists. I’m going to restrain you with an extension cord.”
She let out a long breath that held a shudder of excitement as she crossed her wrists, holding her arms away from her spine to give him better access. Squatting behind her, he wrapped the plain brown cord, lashing her hands together, then looped the end back through itself to secure it.
Rounding the coffee table, he stood between it and the sofa to survey her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t look at me, you cheating bitch,” he snapped. “Look down.”
“Yes, Master.” The words came out with a breathless quality as she quickly dropped her gaze, which had been centered on his crotch, his hard cock, and the thing she needed most, his desire for her.
“Do not look at me until I allow you that pleasure. You are to be punished for the ultimate insult you have dealt me.”
“I’m so sorry, Master.”
A tear trickled from the outer corner of her eye, dribbling along the outside of her cheek until it dropped off her chin to land on her jacket.
“Don’t try to gain my sympathy with tears,” he said, though he ached to gather her into his embrace. “It’s not going to work.” He stroked his chin, considering. She wasn’t looking directly at him, but she would sense his perusal. “How best to make you pay, slut?” he pondered softly.
She parted her lips.
“Do not,” he snapped, “say a word. No suggestions.”
She slapped her mouth shut.
He had the overwhelming urge to push past her lips, to shove his cock deep into the recesses and fuck her mouth. He wanted her warmth and wetness. He wanted to give her the thing she always seemed to want most, his climax. Yet the moment required something far more intense.
“Before I decide your punishment, you will make a full confession. I want to hear exactly what you did, from the moment I left you last night. The truth, every word of it. Or I will know.”
He would make her say it. In there somewhere, he hoped to discover what had driven her here. And driven her to lie.
15
HE STOOD ABOVE HER, ARMS CROSSED, POWERFUL, HER JUDGE. Bree allowed herself a brief glance up at him through her lashes. His blue and white striped rugby shirt stretched over his muscles, and his jeans cupped the massive bulge of his hard cock.
That was all she needed, his hardness. He wanted her. No matter the lies she told him, he wanted her. It was what she craved, his need and desire for her. Nothing else mattered.
From the moment she’d watched him drive away last night, what had she supposedly done? “You wouldn’t let me suck you. I needed relief.” She wasn’t above making it his fault. You didn’t give me the mindlessness I craved, Master, so I punished you.
“I couldn’t go inside that house,” she told him. So very true, but she’d gone inside anyway. Would it have been different if the taste of Luke’s come had been lingering in her mouth, washing away fear with the memory of his desire? No, of course not. Her mother would have said the same things; her father would have died in the morning. But perhaps she would have felt differently. Perhaps she could have taken it calmly.
“Go on,” he demanded.
She realized she’d gotten lost in her pain, lost in her need, her anger, her desire to blame him for not saving her.
“I got in my car and drove to the city to the place you found me.” It felt so right to punish him by taking him back to that night.
“What did you do once you got there?” he said without inflection, but she felt his fuming in the tightness of his tone.
“I went to the slave room.”
/> “You bitch,” he said on barely a breath.
Not his usual sweet bitch or even a dirty bitch. Just you bitch. She thrilled to his anger. He was always too gentle with her, even when he was punishing her. When she rang his doorbell, she’d had no idea what she needed. Just him, his touch, his breath on her, his cock, his come. Like a narcotic. She hadn’t intended to lie, to make up a story that would enflame him. It just spilled out all over him, because she hadn’t wanted his gentleness. She’d wanted to push him.
She tucked her chin, lowered her eyes. And pressed his buttons. “There were two masters. They ripped my clothes off and tied me to the wall with manacles. They fingered and probed me, everywhere. I could hide nothing from them.”
She watched his legs as he skirted the coffee table, then felt the rush of air currents as he came down beside her. Fisting his hand in her hair, he pulled her head back, her scalp stinging.
“Did they make you come?” he snapped, his voice as hard and implacable as diamonds. This close, his face blurred in her vision, and his breath fanned her cheek, sweet and harsh, his skin ruddy with anger.
She could hardly drag in a breath. Her blood hummed with excitement and need. “They put their fingers in me,” she whispered. “They played my clit. And I came. They licked me and sucked me, and I came. They took turns with me, making me scream.”
“Fuck.” He growled like an enraged beast.
Her scalp began to sizzle with the delicious ache of his fingers in her hair. “When I thought I couldn’t stand any more, they pulled me down off the wall and took turns fucking me.”
“Cunt,” he whispered, teeth clenched.
Perfect. That word. He hadn’t called her the names she needed, not the really bad ones, as if he’d been withholding from her, but now, that word touched her like an endearment. She gave him more. “They took me in every hole. Over and over. I couldn’t stop coming for them, and I didn’t even know who was making me come. One of them licked me while the other fucked me.” She became seduced by her own lie. “They traded off, taking me, using me, pounding into me until my throat hurt so badly I couldn’t even scream anymore when I came.”
He grabbed her chin, slammed his mouth down on hers, whether to shut her up or because she’d driven him to the edge, she couldn’t tell. His wildness entered her, filled her, but she wanted more. With her hands tied, she couldn’t push him away, could only revel in the taste of his fury, the crush of his lips. Until he pulled away.
“Did you like it?” He let her look at him now, holding her in that position, his face above her, his breath puffing hard across her cheeks, his fist gripping her hair just short of the agony she craved, and his cock molded against her.
What did he want from her? What did she need from him and how best to drive him to it?
“I loved it,” she whispered, watching his amber eyes darken to the color of deep rich earth. “I begged them to take more, to force everything on me.”
“Fuck you.” His gaze blazed down on her.
“And I took it. I loved it. I begged for more. I told them to hurt me, to use me. And I screamed because it was all so good. They were young and hard and they kept at it for hours, torturing me until I cried with how good and hot it was. I wanted it again, over and over.”
Suddenly he hauled her back from the table, wedging himself in front of it. She was wet, creamy, close to the edge with only her lies and his raging touch. He tore apart the fastenings of her blazer.
“Did they do this to you?” He pinched her nipple hard.
She arched, moaned, the pain and the brutal lines of his face making her soar. “No. I wanted them to, but they didn’t.”
Bending down, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, bit her the way she loved, harder than he normally allowed her. Yes, yes, yes.
He straightened, tore at the buttons of his jeans until his beautiful cock sprang free. Hard, the skin stretched, the vein pulsing, the crown purple. “Did they force their cocks down your throat?”
She was down on her knees before him in supplication, arms behind her back, head tipped to gaze upon the full breadth of him. His cock beckoned. She needed it. But he had to force it on her. “No. They only took me and made me come.”
“Open your mouth,” he demanded.
She did. He shoved himself to the back of her throat, forced her to suck all of him, hard and fast. It was so good, she wanted to weep.
As if he could hear her beg, he made her take him full-throated, driving into her, fucking her mouth. He called her all the dirty, filthy names she needed, the words she craved: slut, bitch, cocksucker, cunt.
They weren’t gentle, and he didn’t soften them with needless adjectives. In his deep voice, they drove her mad. They thrust her up and out of herself, until she seemed to be floating above them, watching this beautiful, perfect man take the dirty, bad girl that she was.
She creamed without him even getting inside her jeans.
BREE SUCKED HIM HARDER, TOOK HIM DEEPER, ALMOST DRAGGED an orgasm from him. A lesser man would have given in, but he wasn’t one of the young, hard cocks she claimed to have had in the slave room. He held himself in check, even as she shuddered and he felt the ripple of her body in orgasm.
She’d lost her control. The climax was no fake. In letting his anger go, unleashing his rage at her lie, her story, her fantasy, her betrayal, he’d given her the release she needed without even touching her pussy.
Christ, now he wanted his own orgasm. But not this way. He wanted it inside her. Pulling free of her succulent mouth, he fastened his jeans. She stared up at him, eyes glazed.
He’d gone wild with the name-calling, giving her what she wanted, loving it as much as she did. “Come on, you fucking slut.” He yanked her to feet, steadied her, then bent down and hauled her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, her arms still secured behind her with the extension cord. “Your punishment for what you’ve done has only just begun.”
She needed power and dominance. He wanted it just as badly.
“Please, Master, don’t hurt me,” she begged as her body thumped against his back.
He would never hurt her beyond what she could bear. But he would give her more than he ever had before. Letting her slide to the bedroom carpet, he shoved her facedown onto the bed. Leaning over her, he growled in her ear. “Don’t you turn. Don’t you look at me. You just lay there and take what you deserve, you cocksucking whore.” He pulled her head back by the hair until she winced, then let go. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” He felt the sob of pain, fear, and excitement in her voice.
He thrived on the sound, and need forced him to a rougher touch. Reaching beneath her, he yanked the snap of her jeans, tugged down her zipper, then pulled everything off, panties, jeans, shoes, tossing it all aside in a heap.
“Take your punishment, slut.” He slapped her ass harder than last week in her condo, harder than he’d ever done. She moaned, cried out, and her cream covered the palm of his hand when he slid down over the exposed pout of her pussy.
“Fucking bitch, you like this too much. You want me to make you come. You’re full of lies about how much you hate it.”
“No, Master. I’m bad. I know I’m bad and this is my terrible punishment.”
“Lying cunt,” he said low, forceful, even as he caressed the crease of her pussy, delving into the heat to find her clit. The button was hard, tight, burgeoning against his fingers. He rubbed; she moaned.
“Liar.” He slapped her butt again. She writhed.
“I’m going to fuck you now. Facedown. Without touching anything but your hips to hold you while I pound into your dirty snatch. Don’t you dare come.”
“No, Master.”
He tugged open the bedside drawer where he kept his stash of condoms for her protection. He glanced back at her; she’d turned her face away just as he’d instructed. “I’m not even taking my pants off, you slut. I’m fucking you as if you aren’t worth more than a quickie.”
“Yes, Master.” Still facing away from him, she squirmed on the bed, perhaps massaging herself or maybe she was unable to keep still in her excitement.
“Cunt,” he said for effect.
She groaned.
The words were a part of her ritual. Maybe they freed her, allowed her to accept what she thought she was, to take what she deserved and to find her own pleasure in it.
Finally behind her again, the condom covering his aching cock, he stroked her ass, tested her pussy’s readiness with his fingers, one, two. She soaked him with her desire. “Look how badly you want this, you whoring slut.”
She bucked against his touch, taking his fingers deeper. “Master. Oh God, Master.”
With no further preliminaries, he slammed home, sliding deep into her. His eyes ached with the sweetness of her pussy.
Arms still tied behind her, she clenched her fingers.
He felt himself drowning in her depths, in the warmth, the scent of arousal rising off her. He wanted to lose his mind as he took her, but he saved enough to give her what she needed. “Panting bitch. You’re in heat. You’ll take any man who wants to fuck you.”
She did pant, then turned into the comforter face first as if she were trying to suffocate herself.
Still he pounded, sank deep, withdrew. She was tight, so sweet, so warm. Rolling down to cover her, he reached between their bodies and put his fingers to her clit, rubbing her own moisture over her. She moaned, her clit throbbing beneath his touch, then she sobbed and cried and went wild under him. He climbed higher, higher, until there was just the feel of her perfect pussy clenching around him, her pants of “Master, Master, Master” punctuated by the filthy names he called her. As he buried himself in her sweetness, he shot his essence deep inside her.
16
SHE COULDN’T REMEMBER EVERYTHING CLEARLY. SHE KNEW ONLY that she’d reached some orgasmic pinnacle, that now she lay in the comfort of his embrace, and for the briefest moment between sleeping and waking, she wasn’t afraid and she wasn’t bad. She simply existed, and it was good. She did not have a past, there was no today, no last night, no tomorrow. There was only now.
What Happens After Dark Page 12