Return of the Bad Boy

by Paige North

  “I’ll buy you a hundred more panties if I can tear them off you,” I tell her. “Now get on the bed.”

  Aubrey obeys, lying down. I nudge her into the center and stretch her arms and hands out wide.

  “Any time you want to stop, say red,” I tell her, staring into her eyes. “You wanted to try some things I’m into. This is your chance. Red to stop. Do you understand me?”

  She nods.

  “You need to tell me, Aubrey. Be vocal. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and I can see her body shaking a little. But it’s not in fear. It’s desire. I can smell the damp heat pouring from her pussy, see her slick lower lips already aching to be touched.

  “Red is stop. Yellow is slow down. Green means good.”

  “Yes. I understand.” Aubrey stays still, and I reach over and grab the black leather cuff I have on the end of a chain in the corner of my bed. I can’t remember the last time I even had a chance to use these. But it doesn’t even matter, because clamping these on her wrists feels like it’s my first time. Her skin is soft, her wrists tiny in my grip. I tighten the cuff and then straddle her stomach so I can fasten the other.

  Her eyes are locked on me. I see her breath rising and falling in rapid pants. Her pupils are small, her lips parted, and those nipples are begging to be kissed, nibbled. You’re next, I silently tell them.

  I finish her wrists, then pull her feet wide enough apart so she’s completely spread eagle on the bed. I make fast work of binding her ankles. Then I stare at her naked body for a moment, let myself savor the sight.

  Aubrey isn’t freaking out. She’s staring hard at me, almost writhing in her hunger. She wants this too.

  Something in my chest releases, and I feel an old weight fly away.

  I dig into my bedside table and procure two nipple clamps. Let’s see how this dove likes to play, if she can handle these. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t speak.

  “We still green?” I ask her.

  She nods, then remembers she’s supposed to speak. Licks her lips and says, “Yes. Um, green.”

  I finally let myself touch her breast, feel her chest arch under my hand. Squeeze and mold the flesh. She’s so pliant for me right now, so eager for whatever is about to happen. When I clamp it over her nipple, she gives a whimper that shoots straight to my dick.

  “Oh God, oh, wow, that feels…” Aubrey shudders and closes her eyes, and her body goes soft.

  I quickly put on the other one. I need to be inside her right fucking now. I cannot wait another second. Her nipples are pinched in the clamps, and I swipe a hand along her cunt slit, and the wetness there drives me fucking mad. Just from tying and clamping her, she’s dripping for me.

  She’s a dirty girl, Aubrey is, and I’m heady with my arousal for her. I blindly fumble for a condom before I lose my mind and rip the foil open, roll it on my painful dick.

  Then I move on top of her, my forearms resting on the sides of her head, and I press my dick at her entrance.

  Her pelvis jerks toward me, and she says, “Please, oh, please, I need you inside me.” Her chest is panting so hard the clamps are bobbing with the movement.

  I slam into her, and she cries out. I let my fingers drift in her hair, touch her, tug her scalp, and I hammer her soaking wet pussy. Aubrey’s cries grow louder to nearly screams as she takes all of me in.

  I drop a hand down to caress her clit and I feel the hard bud pulse under my fingertips. “You’re a wicked girl, aren’t you,” I breathe in her ear. “You like being fucked like this, dirty and spread open for me. Your nipples clamped and your wrists and ankles bound.”

  “Yes,” she gasps.

  We move together, and my body starts to slick with sweat. She’s slippery beneath my hand, around my dick, wet like I’ve never seen a woman before. Aubrey begins to buck her pelvis, her head pushed back on the pillow, body bowed.

  “Are you going to come for me, my dirty girl?” I growl. I speed up my strokes on her pussy as I fuck her harder. I want to drive her crazy. I want to make her crave more of me, of this. I need it more than I need oxygen.

  My own orgasm is swelling, and I fight it as best as I can. My balls are tight and tugged to my body, and my limbs are tense.

  “I’m…so close,” she says, and then her eyes fly open. “Almost there.”

  On impulse, I shift down until my mouth is over a clamp, and I pull it up and away from her body so her nipple is stretched harder.

  Aubrey screams and erupts all around me. I feel her cunt juices gushing on my dick, and then I can’t hold my own orgasm back and I shoot my load into the condom, bucking on her, body vibrating, heart racing, lungs locked. Fuck, fuck, my brain is a jumbled mess and all I can think about is her name.

  It takes a while before our orgasms subside. I pull myself together, withdraw from her, and then gently remove the clamps from her nipples. Her sudden inhalation turns into a sigh when I lick and kiss the tips. Then I remove her wrist cuffs, massaging the limbs to get blood back into them, then the ankle cuffs.

  Aubrey’s body is lax and malleable as I maneuver her to lie on her side. I remove my condom and toss it away, then curl up against her, heart still racing like I’m on speed. She melts against my chest and gives a soft little sigh that tears me apart.

  Fuck me, this woman is everything.

  I’ve never had someone give herself to me so willingly, especially after everything she’s been through. Aubrey trusted me to take care of her, to not hurt her. I tug her tighter against me and swear that I won’t let her down. I can’t.

  This woman has shaken me apart in every way, has turned my life upside down, and I need her.

  We remain silent for several minutes, just breathing, relaxing through her aftercare.

  “How do you feel?” I finally ask her. I brush damp hairs from her brow.

  “Like…melted butter.” Her voice sounds so sated and drowsy from our sex that I can’t help but crow internally.

  I did this to her. Me, giving in to something I hunger for, something I always thought would ruin a girl like Aubrey. I took a chance, and she responded and loved it. My chest swells and I wrap my hand around her hip to cup her belly.

  “I want you to stay here. With me,” I say out of nowhere, voicing the tiny thought that has been niggling at the back of my mind. I can’t bear to let her go back to her apartment, unprotected. Unsafe.

  She stiffens, and the reaction makes me start thinking of reasons on how to convince her this would be a good idea. I don’t want her to think it’s because I’m trying to control her. The truth is, I care. A lot. More than I want to admit to her. I care, and the thought of her being in danger without me there to protect her freaks me out.

  “Are you going to tell me it’s for my own good?” she says in a low tone.

  I draw in a slow breath and search for the right words. “I can tell you all I like what I think is good for you. But in the end, you have to make that choice for yourself. You can go to the police, of course.”

  She snorts. “Right. Because they’re so responsive in these situations.”

  Sad truth. God only knows how our local police would react if they knew about her connection with me, anyway. Probably give her an even harder time.

  I press my forehead against the back of her head and breathe in the scent of her hair. Let myself just enjoy the feel of her satiny skin. “Aubrey, it’s not safe for you to be out there alone. I don’t want to smother you. I want to protect you from someone who is a danger to you, as you already know. Let me help you.”

  She sighs. “I know. I just…I tried so hard to be independent, and I can’t seem to make it happen.” I hear the disappointment, the failure in her voice, and I want to sooth her.

  “You are independent. It’s not your fault your ex is a psycho.” I add, “Besides, I won’t bust your balls if you buy food here. Hell, I’m just glad to have any food at all. I live on beer and pizza. Order duplicates of anything you want.”
>
  That makes her chuckle. “Beer and pizza are two essential staples.”

  “Stay with me.” I try not to make the words sound like an order, but I’m a little too nervous to let them sound like I’m begging her. Because I still have my pride.

  The thought of sleeping beside her for a few nights is tempting as fuck though.

  Aubrey’s quiet for a stretch, and I start to wonder if she fell asleep. Then she says, “Okay.”

  Aubrey

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m just finishing up my afternoon shift, so I ignore it for now. I’ll check it later when I’m in the car or whatever.

  “Bye!” I tell my coworkers.

  They wave at me from their spot at the table in the nurse’s station.

  “Have a good day!” Mary Ann, one of the older STNAs, tells me.

  I step into the glass-and-chrome front lobby and wait for Smith to come pick me up. When I got that note from Roger a little over a week ago, we came up with a plan of action. I insisted on still going to work, but I conceded to let Smith pick me up and take me home sometimes when it isn’t inconvenient for him.

  Late that afternoon, we both went to the apartment together and got enough of my belongings to last for a little bit.

  I have to admit, I think as I’m waiting for Smith, it’s been incredible getting to sleep beside him. We sometimes work different shifts, but on the nights when our schedules match up, it’s so…satisfying to slide into bed beside him. He often wakes up when I’m coming back from my morning shift and we have sex, then fall asleep.

  A girl could get far too easily used to this. Being able to roll over and touch him in the middle of the night, curl against his back, watch him wake up and look at me with a sleepy smile…it’s addictive.

  But I rushed things with Roger, and look where it got me. Hiding from my ex in this town while trying to see what his next move will be. Surely he’s going to pop up somewhere. I just have to be ready.

  When Smith pulls up, I find the tightness in my chest release a bit. I’ve been walking around with a small knot of anxiety in me since all of this started. Just waiting for something to happen. Hoping it does to get it over with, yet also fearing it. I hate this limbo so much.

  I jump into Smith’s car and give him the bravest smile I can muster. “Thanks for getting me.”

  His eyes are sparkling in the afternoon light, and it glints off the light red in his beard. The anxiety I experienced is replaced by a much warmer feeling that moves down to my lower belly and makes me breathy.

  “It’s no problem at all,” he says.

  We weave our way through the roads and make it back to his place. Once inside, I plop down on the couch and sigh, toeing off my shoes and stretching out. My bones are tired. The soles of my feet are throbbing. My back is in pain. I worked an extra four hours this morning because another nurse had to leave early for her sick son, so I’m ready for a good nap.

  Smith comes over and drops to his haunches in front of me. He strokes my hair, and my chest unfurls at the tender gesture. I’m filled with warmth that tingles down to my fingers and toes. Something I’ve noticed about him is that he likes to touch me a lot, even just casual brushes of our skin. It keeps me constantly aware of him.

  Don’t get caught up in this, I warn myself. It would be so, so easy to let myself start fantasizing about what we are, where we’re going. After all, Smith isn’t like Roger. He wants me to feel free, not restrained.

  Well, not in the bad way, anyway.

  Every day I spend with this man makes me sink deeper and deeper into this thing I’m feeling for him. I refuse to put a name to it right now. It’s too early for that…isn’t it?

  Smith says, “Hey, I gotta go run some errands before I open the bar with my brothers. Will you be okay here?”

  I yawn and smile. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ll be fine. Go, get your stuff done.” My eyes are growing heavy.

  Smith leans over and presses a soft kiss right above my right brow, and my heart catches. “Come down tonight and have a beer when you’re up and around. I’ll save your regular seat for you.” He gives me that crooked smile I’ve grown to be fond of, to say the least, and then leaves, the door clicking softly behind him.

  I lie there and let my mind wander as I think about what it’s been like staying here the past few days. Smith isn’t uptight about things at all. He has three full bottles of ketchup in the fridge, because he says he keeps forgetting and then buys another. Clearly not someone who’d get mad and shame me for a duplicate now and then.

  And in the quiet of the morning or night, when we’re lying together, we talk. He tells me what his childhood with his dad was like—how his father was a hothead just like them, quick to bellow, but he always had a big smile and a big heart, and he made time for his boys. He even was careful to spend one-on-one time with each of them. Smith’s love of the man is evident in how he speaks of him.

  He’s even talked about his mom, a couple of memories he has. Mostly of the way she smelled like flowers, and how she liked to sing as she washed dishes. He doesn’t know why she left, and I think the open-endedness is what hurts him most of all. No closure.

  I told him about my parents, how they’re kind but distant, not very affectionate. I grew up an only child. Listening to stories Smith tells about the trouble he and his brothers got into as kids—setting the middle school Dumpster on fire, trying to skateboard down the smooth rail of the library’s steep steps, making a potato gun and accidentally searing off Asher’s eyebrows…

  I find myself smiling and wiggle my aching toes. I want to know his brothers better, though I think maybe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. They’ve only come by once since I’ve been here, and they spent all of five minutes in the apartment, barely giving me a hello. Does my presence bother them? Are they upset about Smith putting himself in danger to help me out with the Roger situation?

  I yawn again and sink deeper into the couch cushions. I should make an effort to talk to his brothers. After all, I’m living here now. I need all the friends I can get. The tiny voice in the back of my head says that I also want to know them simply because they’re related to Smith.

  I want to know more about him.

  I find myself drifting to sleep. I’m not sure how long I’m conked out, but my phone vibrating in my pocket jerks me awake. I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance around the room. The late afternoon sun has dimmed the living room quite a bit.

  Crud, someone texted me earlier too, and I forgot to check it. I dig into my pocket and procure the phone, then look at the messages.

  They’re both from a number I don’t recognize.

  Do you miss me? I haven’t seen you at your place. Where are you?

  And then the next, sent only a moment ago.

  What the fuck. I just saw you with a man. Is he the one you left me for, you fucking bitch? I knew it. You’re a lying whore.

  My heart jumps to my throat. How in the hell has Roger found me? How does he know where I live and my new cell phone number? Only a few people have that information right now. I know Michaela would never have told on pain of death. Hell, she’s the one who encouraged me to get the hell out of the relationship.

  A sinking feeling hits my gut as a suspicion blooms in my mind. They wouldn’t, would they?

  My hands are shaking as I pull up my mom’s number and call her. It rings twice, then she picks up.

  “I was wondering when I was going to hear from you again,” Mom says lightly. “You’ve been so busy working. Don’t they give you days off?”

  I swallow and struggle to keep my emotions level. My mom responds poorly to me being emotional, a fact I learned a long time ago. “Mom, I need to ask you something.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Have you talked to Roger since I left?”

  Her end of the line goes silent. And now I have my answer. Betrayal hits me square in the chest. How could she? I told her our relationship was bad, though I didn’t
give her the details so as not to upset her. And still, she talked to him.

  Maybe I should have given her all the gory details though. Maybe then she’d finally get it and stop viewing him as someone who should be given another chance.

  Mom clears her throat. “Well, Roger came by a week or so ago and he just seemed so contrite. I felt bad. He was even crying. What was I supposed to do, be cruel and tell him I couldn’t help him? He just wants to be with you—he loves you so much and he doesn’t understand what happened.” Her tone turns sharp. “And by the way, you didn’t tell me you just left him while he was at work. I didn’t teach you to run away from your responsibilities like that.”

  I’m so mad right now I’m shaking. Is she really chastising me over protecting myself? It’s tempting to hang up, but I’m not letting it go like this. Not this time. I suck in a breath and then I tell my mom everything.

  How the abuse started, what happened when I did try to break up with him, how I felt this was my only option, how scared I am right now and how he’s found me and is bothering me.

  Mom is silent the whole time. When I finally stop speaking, I hear only her heavy breaths.

  I feel my cheeks grow cold in streaks and realize I’m crying, even though I feel numb inside after telling all of that to her.

  “It’s…” Mom pauses. Starts again. “It’s so hard to believe, Aubrey. We’ve never seen anything of the kind in him, not once.”

  “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” I charge back. “To make sure no one else knows what’s really happening? You do believe me, don’t you?”

  Mom’s sigh cuts me right to the bone. I know that sigh. It’s the one where she’s struggling with what to say. And in this situation, she’s struggling to believe me and is trying to find the right words to neutralize this situation. Because to believe me means she made a grievous error in judgment. And my parents hate to be wrong, no matter what it costs.

  “You know what? I don’t care,” I finally tell her, my voice trembling with pent-up emotions. “Believe or don’t believe. I know what’s true and I don’t need to waste my breath trying to convince you of it. But thanks a lot.” I hang up before she can reply.