“Yeah. But it fits.” Luke’s lips thinned. “Do I have to bodily remove you?”
She thrilled to his voice, casual yet brittle, charming yet hard. Like the night he’d taken her from Derek. He meant what he said; he would not back down. And all for her.
“Maybe we should ask the lovely lady.” Frank indicated her with an arch of his brow.
Were they fighting over her? It was awful, the antics of a self-absorbed woman, but it excited her. She was wet and wanting more, needing the affirmation. “What if I said you should both sit down, and I’d share.” She waited a beat, letting an image settle in their minds. “The drinks, I mean,” she clarified after her point was already made.
Luke’s eyes glittered, promising retribution. He sat in the round booth, moving in on her, lowering his voice so it could only just be heard above the din of conversation. “I’m the one who decides when to share, not you, my sweet.” He raised his gaze to Frank. “Tonight, I’m not in a sharing mood.”
She opened her eyes, going for the wide and innocent look. “But just a few minutes ago,” she said, not knowing where the temerity came from, but loving it, “you wanted to share that woman over there.” She jutted her chin at the bar. The redhead was still sipping her champagne and gazing wistfully at Luke.
He chucked her under the chin. “Different kind of sharing, baby.”
Frank’s face was fairly glowing, his cheeks ruddy with either amazement or desire, maybe both. “Guess I found the right party, didn’t I.”
Luke stared at him for long seconds. “Right party, wrong time.” Then he grabbed Bree’s hand and practically dragged her out of the booth.
“YOU DO REALIZE THIS MEANS PUNISHMENT.”
Luke hadn’t dropped her hand since the moment he’d yanked her out of the bar. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already trolling for other men.”
“I wasn’t,” she whispered weakly.
“You were.” He punctuated with a growl rising up from his chest. He couldn’t say how he’d felt when he lifted his gaze to the table and found her flirting with another man. It was a heady brew of astonishment, anger, jealousy, fear, and desire. He was well aware Bree hadn’t started it, but she sure as hell hadn’t ended it either. Promptly forgetting the redhead named Liza, he’d waded in to do the ending for Bree.
Only to have her make that suggestive remark.
Emotion and desire were inextricably connected; the higher the emotion, the bigger the kick of desire. In that moment, he’d wanted to haul her up out of the booth, force her face first onto the table and take her that way. All very macho.
That’s what she did to him and for him, pushed his emotions higher until his desire simply burst out of him.
At the car, he whirled her around, shoved her up against the driver’s side door and plastered his body to hers. “You were trolling. And you will be punished.”
“Honestly,” she started.
He stopped her with a hand beneath her skirt, a finger in her pussy, and suddenly she was gasping for air.
“See how wet you are,” he whispered against her ear. “See how much you wanted him.”
“I—I—” She wasn’t capable of more as he played her clit.
“You test me, push me. You want me to punish you. You ask for it, beg for it because you’re a dirty, horny little slut.”
She quivered and moaned against him.
He wanted her this way. When he threatened, she melted, and this was what he wanted, needed. Most women didn’t need the threat; she did. He just needed to shut down the naysaying voice in his head whispering that it wasn’t good for her.
He pulled away, let her straighten her skirt. “Get in the car.” He didn’t play the gentleman and follow her around to open the door. Instead, he climbed in and started the engine, then, once she was beside him, he couldn’t resist a taste of his fingers as she watched, the remnants of her desire coating them.
She opened her mouth. He pointed a finger. “Don’t say a word. I’m so pissed I can’t talk to you without hurting you.”
He pulled out of the lot, making his plans. “Fast hot sex,” he muttered to himself. “Lots of it. With you tied. You won’t be able to stop me.” He entered the freeway and headed home. “I’ll show you what it means to push me to the limit.”
The silence beside him was electric. Her hot sexual aroma perfumed the car. Like the scent a feline gave off when she was in heat, attracting every male.
“You did this on purpose to incite me. To force me to punish you.”
She squirmed in her seat, and he knew she loved this theme.
“You better be afraid of what you’ve unleashed, slut,” he warned, his voice harsh enough to rasp in his throat. He was into it, playing her game, giving her what she wanted. As if he were truly forcing her to do it, that it wasn’t her desire.
The sexual tension in the car rose until it was so thick around them he could damn near touch it. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was as hard as marble.
Still in silence, he rounded the hood, opened her door, and yanked her out of the car. She stumbled; he acted as if he didn’t care. She tripped on the step; he let her catch herself.
The house was dark, cold, and smelled faintly of Italian seasonings. “Where to punish you . . .” he mused to the empty hall.
Then he had it. “Brilliant,” he muttered to himself. “In the dining room. Stand in the corner next to the sideboard.” She followed his direction, facing the wall. “Not that way. Turn around. Face me, whore.” The name calling and abuse was becoming so easy, second nature; it fueled them both.
She gulped, but did as he said without a word.
Over her head, he took down a hanging plant. Beth had loved the greenery. He didn’t know why he kept up the habit. Now, he laid bare the hook in the ceiling.
Leaning in, he pointed his finger right between Bree’s eyes. “Don’t you move; don’t you run.”
“No, Master,” she whispered, her first words since getting into the car.
He left her there in the dark, standing in the corner like a naughty child.
SHE HEARD HIM MOVING IN THE HOUSE, SLAMMING DOORS, DRAWERS, muttering, and her excitement grew exponentially with every sound permeating the darkness. She could feel her pulse beating fast at her throat and wrists, her heart thumping in her chest.
She wanted this, whatever it was. And oh, she’d had such an idea from the moment he took the plant down from the ceiling and she saw that hook. She couldn’t catch her breath, and without her panties, her thighs were coated with her desire. She dripped with it. He’d ordered her not to run, but she couldn’t anyway. She wouldn’t. She had to have whatever he planned to do to her.
27
LUKE WENT IN SEARCH OF IMPLEMENTS. IN THE BEDROOM, HE gathered scarves and a blindfold. Perfect. He slammed the bureau drawer for effect, then the bedroom door on his way out. As he passed back down the hall, he flipped the light switch. Illumination streamed into the dining room, stretching across the hardwood floor, enough for him to see but still leaving her in the dark, so to speak.
“Hold your hands out, slut, wrists together.”
She trembled, a fresh wave of her scent wafting up to cloud his mind. He wrapped one scarf around her wrists, binding them together in front. The second scarf he slid between her tied hands, knotted the ends, then raised her arms high enough to slip the loop over the hook in the ceiling.
Then he stood two inches from her, his face right up in hers. “You are my whore, no one else’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
She was the perfect height for fucking while standing up. Reaching behind, he unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt. With her slender figure, it simply fell to the floor at her feet.
He went down on his haunches to lift one foot then the other and whisk the skirt away. “Your cunt is mine, isn’t it?” He blew a warm breath on her pretty sweet pussy, neatly trimmed, fragrant with need.
“Yes, Mast
er,” she said with a hitch of desire in her voice.
He rose once more. “You don’t deserve to look upon your master while he fucks you, whore. Do you?”
She agreed with everything. “No, Master, I don’t,” she said on an exhale of breath.
He slid the elastic band of the blindfold over her head and patted the padded material in place across her eyes. With no light in the dining room, she would now be in complete darkness, nothing seeping through the edges. Her senses would be heightened, expectant.
He stepped back, said nothing, let her stew a moment. Christ, she was gorgeous. Long, long legs in black stockings, the trimmed triangle of hair against her milk-white thighs, her belly button beneath the tight top begging for his tongue to tease it.
“A true slut needs to be fucked while half dressed. Because she’s such a whore, she can’t wait to get her clothes off before she has to have a cock in her.” He tugged up the Lycra of her shirt and let it rest above the swell of her breasts. In the coolness of the house, her nipples pearled.
She shivered. He thought about turning the heat up. Instead, he gathered both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and pinched hard until she cried out.
He leaned close, breathed in the hot spice of her arousal. “Sluts like pain, don’t they.”
“Yes, Master. When you hurt me, it washes away all my unworthiness.” Like a sinner giving confession and receiving absolution.
“You have to pay for what you did tonight with Frank.”
She murmured her assent.
Still pinching one nipple, lighter this time, he slid his fingers down her belly to her drenched pussy. He strummed her clit until her whole body trembled. Pain, punishment, and pleasure, she needed it all.
“Don’t you come yet, bitch. Not until I say.”
“No, no, Master, I won’t.” She ended on a gasp, then clenched her muscles, a move intended to stave off the orgasm that threatened.
“Spread your legs wide,” he ordered, kicking her feet apart. Then he grabbed her chin, held her when she might have stumbled off her heels. “Don’t you dare come while I lick you.”
She shook her head almost wildly.
She was tied. She was spread. She was his. He went to his knees before her, oblivious to the hardness of the floor. It wasn’t any harder than his cock, and it kept his senses keen. He smelled her perspiration born of desire and need, the sweetness of her juice. Then he tasted her. God, he could never get enough of her. She was so clean, soft, pink, gorgeous. She made him feel the sex between them. With her, it wasn’t a physical act, it was an experience. When he told himself he needed more from her, he hadn’t realized how much he already had if he only knew how to use it. She was a woman with a wealth of sensations and emotions, and there was so much more to discover with her.
She gushed against his mouth as he licked her, sucked her, took the swell of her clit between his lips and worried it until she was crying and trembling above him, her legs shaking.
Putting his hands to her thighs, he held her wide and took her with long sweeps of his tongue.
She panted and moaned. “Please, please, please,” she chanted.
She was close. He backed off. “Don’t you do it, slut. Don’t you come. Your punishment will be worse if you disobey.”
She was born to disobey and be punished for it, and as he took her once more with his mouth, he pushed two fingers inside to stroke her G-spot. Her cries filled the room that was suddenly no longer cold, but hot, hot, hot. She quaked, her thigh muscles bunching, tensing, and her body swayed against the scarves binding her to the ceiling hook. The climax was magnificent, a flood of sweetness. Her cream covered his lips, filled his mouth, and he held on, licking her, drinking her.
When he finally rose to his feet, her cheeks were wet with tears that had leaked from beneath the blindfold. The moisture sparkled like diamonds in the dim light from the hall.
“Bitch,” he whispered, pretending it was a sweet nothing. “Whore.”
Her chest heaved with need. “I’m so sorry, Master, I didn’t mean to come.”
“Shut. Up.” Two words, two sentences. “I don’t want to hear any more out of you, you disobedient little slut.” Then he grabbed one of the smaller scarves he’d left on the table and wound it around her face, filling her mouth as he tied it off in back. “Not one more word. Not a moan. Not a plea. I’m going to fuck you, and you will remain silent and take it, you dirty little whore bitch.” He pulled her head back by her hair, bared her throat, her skin fragrant, delicious. He bit her. She made a noise, though her lips closed around it. “Now you can’t deny you wanted Frank to fuck you.”
She shook her head at him. Hand fisted in her hair, he held her still. “Liar,” he whispered. “You wanted him down between your legs like the slut you are. You’re so bad. You need so much punishment. I’ve been lax with you.”
Her breath puffed. She was slick with need, her skin, her pussy.
“I’m going to fuck you like a whore, restrained, blindfolded, and gagged.” He wasn’t sure the moment he’d started needing this, too, getting off completely on it. When had it stopped being about her? He was changing, too. Yet again, he ignored the warning voice in his head. This was what they both wanted, stepping fully into the bondage and humiliation game.
“I will have you,” he growled. The omnipresent condom in his pocket, he was ready, donning it with expert fingers. Then he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist. She wasn’t anchored, and her body swayed as if she were on a swing. He backed her up against the wall.
He couldn’t kiss her through the gag. She couldn’t see him through the blindfold. He could only fuck her. It was almost impersonal. Until he thrust deep inside her, and everything became so fucking personal, it stole his breath. Her body gloved him, sucked him in. She tightened her legs at his waist. The fit was snug, delicious, her inner muscles working him. She dragged him closer to the edge despite the fact that he hadn’t moved in her yet. Lost in the feel of her, he had to stop a moment to remember to breathe.
“Bitch,” he whispered, and slammed home once more, shoving her into the wall. A small part of his mind thought of the bruises she’d have on her spine, but he pounded into her again and again. So much emotion, he didn’t know what was real, what was faked for her sake, the anger, the need, the rush of desire.
I want you, I need you, I have to have you. You’re mine. Words over and over in his mind until there was nothing but them and her body around him, milking him with her climax, and the sharp rise of his own orgasm crashing over him.
BREE CLUNG TO HIM, TOOK HIM DEEPER, LET HIM FILL HER, NEED her, want her. She soared. It wasn’t climax, it was something more, something so much better. She didn’t feel the unforgiving wall, the ache in her spine, the tightening of the scarves around her wrists, or the dryness of the cloth in her mouth. In the darkness behind the blindfold, there was only the feel of his body and the words he kept saying. I want you, I need you, I have to have you. You’re mine.
She’d driven him to the admission; he couldn’t help himself. This was what she’d always needed from a man, to know she was the special one, the precious one, the only one.
Now he leaned heavily against her, squishing her between the wall and his body. Deprived of sight, there was only sensation, his raspy breath shooting against her throat, his shirt clammy with perspiration that was already cooling in the dark, the roughness of his clothing against her inner thighs as she clung to him, the beat of his heart against her chest, the thrum of her own blood through her veins.
“Christ,” he muttered into her hair. The guttural, needy quality of his voice made her tremble all over again. “You drive me to it. It’s your fault. You force me to punish you.”
He gave her the words she craved. She’d never wanted to analyze why she needed them, why they made everything all right. She wanted only to wrap her arms around him, feel his skin, taste his lips, whisper to him, feast her eyes on him. All she could do was let him hold her.<
br />
Until finally he puffed out a rough breath. “Shit. Didn’t mean to leave you hanging.” He laughed at the joke, but his speech was slow, drowsy, as if he were still lingering in some orgasmic never-never land. Pushing away from the wall, he disentangled, until there was no contact at all, and she stood awkwardly with her arms over her head and her heels wobbling on the floor. There was only his scent left marking her body.
He fumbled with the scarves at her wrists, then the knot above her head that held her bound to the ceiling hook.
“Dammit, they’ve tightened. I’ll have to cut them off. I’ll get a knife from the kitchen.”
His footsteps receded. The room was suddenly cold, her heartbeat loud in her ears. He’d taken off neither the gag nor the blindfold, and the darkness was suddenly disorienting. She felt naked and exposed, her nipples stiffening uncomfortably in the cool air. Her wrists throbbed where the knots had constricted and were starting to cut off her circulation. Her knees felt as if they’d buckle without the scarves holding her up. God, she wasn’t going to accidentally pull the hook out of the ceiling?
Then his hands were on her again, sliding up her arms, slicing through the scarves tethering her to the hook. She was suddenly free, though her wrists were still bound together, but as he went for the blindfold, the darkness dizzied her, her knees weakened, and she stumbled. She went down too fast for him to catch her, and without sight or the full use of her arms she couldn’t break the fall. She couldn’t see it coming when her forehead whacked into something hard.
Stars, pain shooting across her scalp, inside her skull, then she was flat on her ass on the floor.
“Fuck,” he spat out. “Jesus Christ.” Luke yanked off the blindfold, tugged off the scarf he’d used to gag her, then sliced through the ones securing her wrists. “You okay, baby? What the hell was I thinking?” He put his lovely cool fingers to her forehead, through her hair, then looked at his hand. “Thank God you’re not bleeding.”
What Happens After Dark Page 21