by Brooks, JB
“Quiet, little drama queen, or I will punish you!”
Something about the way he said it gave her pause. There was a sensuous quality to his rough voice and suddenly she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, what he intended to do to her. Under the hood, she froze, eyes closed, hardly breathing. Panic lapped at the edges of her mind, but there was something else too. Something dark and shameful, and more dangerous than he could ever be. She pushed at him with all her might. He simply crushed her against his massive chest, and strode off as if her weight meant nothing to him at all.
Even through her fear, she sensed him enter a building and mount a staircase. She heard voices and activity nearby, and other strange sounds. How her captor escaped detection, she could not imagine, but nobody stopped him to demand to know why he was carrying a woman with a bag over her head and bound wrists, so he must have avoided any encounters. The hood confused her, the thin fabric allowing a hint of light and shadow to pass through while distorting sound so that the voices seemed much closer, as if they were in the same room. The elastic at the bottom around her neck was not tight at all, but just enough to keep the hood hooked under her chin to prevent it from sliding off. Light and air came in from the bottom with every step that he took, and his scent teased her nostrils—a fresh, spicy, masculine aroma. It distracted her momentarily and, grateful when she regained some measure of control over her emotions, she breathed it in deeply.
The stairs went on for a long while then he made his way along an equally lengthy passage. He shuffled her in his powerful arms, changing his grip to unlock a door. Moments later he dumped her unceremoniously onto a bed.
She scooted away from him, bumping her head on a hard surface. The bed must have been against a wall. The door closed softly, and clicked as he locked it. She scrambled around, trying to get into a sitting position without the help of her hands. Since he wasn’t right next to her, holding on to her, it seemed a good opportunity to try screaming. Her first attempt was little more than a croak, but then her voice broke free in a piercing shriek.
He chuckled. “You can scream now, little drama queen. Nobody will mind.”
As soon as he said that, she stopped. What was the point? It obviously wouldn’t do any good, or he wouldn’t think it so amusing.
“Much better.” His tone softer, approving. “I’d rather you scream from what I do to you. That’s a sound I’d like to hear.”
Oh god, what did he mean? But she knew. Through her despair, she felt a strange throbbing between her thighs. Appalled at her body’s betrayal, she realized her pussy was wet.
She grabbed at the hood and started to drag it upward, but he caught her hands.
“Oh no you don’t! That stays on until I say you can take it off. You’re going to feel so much more if you can’t see.”
He raised her arms over her head as he spoke, and pulled up her loose-fitting t-shirt, carefully easing it over her head without removing the hood, and leaving it bunched around her tied hands.
“Oh, fuck, yeah!”
Evelyn recalled in dismay that she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra under her baggy sleeping shirt. Men loved her breasts. She was a D-cup, and on her small frame they looked even bigger. Under the hood, her face burned with humiliation at the thought of this rough stranger’s eyes on her, and her nipples bunched into tight, painful peaks. Her pussy contracted in waves and lubricated again.
He pushed her arms back, forcing her to lie down again. From the tugging at her bonds, she surmised that he was tying her hands to something, probably the headboard.
His hands closed over her breasts with a gentle squeeze. Icy sweat covered her body, and she gasped at the branding heat of his palms on her clammy skin. She hadn’t realized how chilled she was, and for a moment, because of the warmth, his touch seemed intensely pleasurable. Then she recoiled and writhed on the bed, trying to evade his seeking fingers.
He laughed and withdrew. “You’re right, little drama queen. Let’s get you out of these clothes before we really start to play.”
He unzipped her jeans then moved to the foot of the bed to pull off her shoes. As he dragged the jeans off her legs, he laughed as she shrieked again and kicked out wildly, but he was too strong, and they slithered down all too easily. As her feet cleared the fabric, she struck out viciously and connected with warm, solid flesh.
“Goddamn it, you little hellcat!” he howled. “The ‘no hurting’ rule works both ways! I wasn’t going to tie your legs, but I sure as hell will now.”
She heard him toss her jeans across the room with an impatient grunt, and she winced at the thunk as they landed. That was her mobile in the back pocket, slamming into tiles, by the sound of it. She wondered if it had survived.
Then his hands were back on her skin, holding down her right leg and looping rope ’round her ankle, layer after layer. She fought, strained, and jerked, but he overpowered her easily, chuckling at her efforts and securing both ankles to the bed with her legs splayed wide. Exhausted from struggling and overwhelming emotions, she lay limply within her bonds.
“That’s better. You’re quite a sight, little drama queen. We’re almost ready to begin.”
He drew away and moved around the room. It sounded as if he was opening cupboards and drawers in a kitchen, looking for something. Then he returned to the side of the bed.
“Now keep still. I’m holding a very sharp knife here.”
She froze, but he lifted the sides of her panties away from her hips and sliced through the lacy fabric then pulled it away from her body, leaving her naked.
She heard him undressing, shuffling around the bed. Panic engulfed her. Why, oh why, was this happening to her?
The mattress sank under his weight as he climbed onto the bed next to her. The most appalling sense of vulnerability and helplessness swept over her. She twisted away from him and strained to close her legs, but her bonds had little give. Then his body pressed all along her right side, and he eased his leg under hers. Heat radiated from him like a fever. Shaking again from chill and shock, she fought the irrational urge to curve into him and mold against his torrid skin.
“Are you cold, little drama queen?” he asked, close to her ear.
She snapped her head away from him. He stretched over her and, to her surprise, pulled a blanket across her body. Unfortunately the insistent prodding of his rock-hard erection against her hip as he moved negated any relief from the comfort of the cover.
He caressed her under the blanket, running his hot, firm hand over her belly, up her sides, down between her breasts, back over her belly to her hips, down her thighs, up again. Over and over, he traced the same path, her body relishing the warmth of his touch, regardless of her confusion. What was he doing? She knew what he intended. Why didn’t he just get it over with?
Slight calluses on his palm abraded her silky skin, and the span of his fingers almost covered her stomach, continuous reminders of his size and strength. But his touch was gentle, controlled, as if he wanted her to enjoy it. He spoke to her softly, soothingly.
“Just relax. I’ll make you warm. I’ll make it good for you.”
He murmured on and on. She tried to tell him to stop, but it was impossible to form coherent words around the obstruction in her mouth.
“Nhu-uh, Nhuu-uhh!”
“Shh, little drama queen, there’s no rush. Nothing will happen until you’re ready. I know the first time can be a little scary, but just let me warm you up.”
What was he talking about? Was he insane?
“You are exquisite, do you know that? I’m going to possess you and worship your body. It’ll be everything you’ve wished for, better than your fantasies.”
How could he possibly know? Who was this man? She’d never, ever given anyone so much as a hint of what her mind conjured in the depths of night when her defenses were weak and the walls tumbled down to release the chimera of her desire. Nobody knew—not her closest friends, not her husband, when she’d been married. Especially not he
r husband!
But this stranger whispered words straight from her innermost dreams. The passion in his rough voice stirred her, provoked her. He rubbed and stroked her for so long that she felt her body ease under his touch, becoming warm, then hot. He trailed over her breasts and the top of her pussy, and she tried pretending that it wasn’t happening, but the attempt was futile. On and on it went, that warm hand traveling over her, sending sizzles of heat over her skin, making her nerve endings tingle. It wasn’t so bad, one part of her mind thought. It had been so very, very long since anybody had touched her body in even the most simple way, and he was careful, his fingers intuitively finding the most sensitive and responsive areas, inciting a yearning hunger within.
He pushed the blanket down to her waist and bent over her, the cooler air provoking another sensual surge over her skin. With an oh-so-gentle rake of his nails, he resumed circling her breasts and nipples, moving from neck to waist and up again with a complete lack of urgency, sending thrills throughout her, undermining her determination not to respond. His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking firmly, the tugging inducing shuddering waves that resonated down to her clit. Her body arched and she cried out softly. He cupped her other breast and rubbed the peak with his thumb. She felt soft hair against the skin of her chest and neck, and thought about that glimpse of shaggy black mane she’d seen before he’d put the hood over her head. She was so glad that he’d taken off his mask. It had frightened her, had made him seem less than human. Now that it was gone, she felt better about him. She couldn’t even see him, and it made no sense at all, but he seemed…nicer. God, maybe she was losing her mind!
He spent hours at her breasts, it seemed, sucking and biting but never hurting her, awakening long-dormant desires. He flicked and rasped her nipples with his tongue and licked and stroked under and around her breasts. He was skillful, seeming to know exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply, drawing core-deep responses from her body, despite the little voice in her mind that was telling her that it was wrong, wrong, wrong to find any pleasure in his touch. After all, he was going to do this to her anyway, wasn’t he? So why shouldn’t she steal a few moments of enjoyment for her long-parched body? Desire throbbed with an insistent burn between her thighs and her body craved release. She couldn’t remember when last she’d made herself come, but it was much too long ago—too long to resist the treacherous sensations taking control of her now and drowning out her conscience.
When he finally eased his fingers into her slit, she was only mildly ashamed to feel that she was sopping wet beneath his searching touch. He fingered her with confidence and finesse, drawing her clit into a hard bud. When he penetrated her with one long digit, her hips bucked involuntarily and the air squeezed out of her lungs in a gasp. He circled his finger in her channel, a deliberate probing that made her thighs strain wide.
“Are you ready for me, little drama queen?” he whispered near her ear, his breath caressing her neck. “You feel ready. Do you want me inside you?”
Mortified, her eyes squeezed shut under the hood, but she nodded and her body undulated in an age-old invitation, and he understood.
He wasted no time. Without another word, he positioned himself between her legs and eased his cock into her pussy in a slow, deep glide. She felt his intrusion with every fiber of her being. She hadn’t had sex for a long time, and it stretched and burned as he forged his way up her tight sheath.
Unbelievably he buried his entire length in her, only stopping when their pelvic bones ground together and his heavy testicles pressed against her. He held still for a too-short moment then began to ride her with sinuous thrusts while she struggled to adjust to his girth.
After a while the burning eased, replaced with slowly spiraling heat and urgency. Then with a ridiculous sense of disappointment, she realized that he was coming, trembling violently, squirting deep inside her, more warmth, more heat, flooding her. It hadn’t taken very long.
He collapsed over her, shaking and panting, then kissed her nipples.
“I’m sorry, little drama queen. I needed that badly, and you’re so tight—you just about squeezed the life out of me. I know you didn’t come, but I’m going to take care of you right now.” He moved his weight off her.
What could he mean? And why did he care? What was going on with him?
Shock and raw sensation slammed into her. His mouth was on her cunt, his tongue licking and probing. He spread her labia wide with his fingers and sucked, palpating her clit. With his face pressed against her, he penetrated her with his tongue, deeply.
A cry froze in her throat as her breath seized. His fingers replaced his tongue, rubbing and chafing the walls of her tender channel as he probed with a slightly irregular rhythm, and his mouth returned to her clit. The stimulation from his soft lips and tongue was gentle but terrifyingly intense. His breath bathed her in heat, and the intimacy of his actions shook her to the core. Nobody had ever done this to her before, and that the first should be this man, this stranger, devastated her.
Thrashing on the bed, she resisted the tide of perfidious sensation rising to overwhelm her, but he ignored her gyrations. At exactly the wrong moment, he increased the speed and pressure, and a painfully intense orgasm burst over her, racking her with physical ecstasy and mental anguish, bringing tears to her eyes. On its heels followed a deluge of shame, confusion, and unanswerable questions. Then a wave of black nothingness. She didn’t resist, but let it wash over her, pathetically grateful for the respite. Perhaps when she woke again, it would all have been a dream.
Chapter Two
The woman passed out. Mason was pretty sure it was from the force of her orgasm, but nevertheless he moved quickly to strip off her hood and gag, to be sure she wasn’t suffocating or choking. The hood was easy to remove, but as he tossed it aside, he frowned.
She had an extraordinarily beautiful face, even with the ball gag distorting her mouth. Evidence of tears streaked her cheeks, her pale skin blotched with red, and her hair damp from the salty wetness. He’d heard a few gasps and sobs when he’d carried her, but nothing unusual, nothing that couldn’t be explained as part of playing The Chase. But she looked as if she’d really been crying.
With a growing sense of unease, he released the ball gag and tossed it aside. There were red marks on the sides of her mouth and along her cheeks from the straps, but those would fade quickly. He studied her face closely. She looked a little more mature than he would have expected for an undergrad.
Taking a cloth from the bathroom, he carefully cleaned her face. She didn’t stir as he untied her hands and feet, pleased to note that her skin had hardly chafed from her bindings. He hadn’t lost his skills!
Nor did she react when he closed her legs and gently lowered her arms to rest by her sides, noting her slender wrists and ankles, the delicacy of her skin, and her deep, regular breathing. He pulled the blanket around her and tucked it in snugly then smoothed her tangled hair away from her face. She had dark hair, almost black, and pale, luminous skin. Her lips, like her nipples, were plump and soft, and a surprisingly deep shade of pinky-red. With her compact body and those big, bouncy tits, she was A-grade fantasy material. When he’d pulled off her shirt and seen her breasts for the first time, he’d just about come right then and there, in his jeans. He hadn’t had a close shave like that since he was a teenager.
He pulled on his boxers and jeans in the hope of taming his rapidly returning erection, leaving the top two buttons undone, and draped his crumpled shirt over the back of one of the two chairs at the tiny dining table, to let the creases drop out.
Then he retrieved her jeans from the corner where he’d tossed them, and sat down to search through the pockets for clues about her. There was an old mobile and a university access card in one, and a couple of keys on an address-tag key ring in another. The mobile had a hairline crack across the corner of the screen and, as he handled it, the cover and battery fell off into his palm. He reassembled it and pressed the power
button. Nothing. Shit, he’d broken her phone. He’d have to replace that for her. He smiled—the thought of buying her a fancy new phone was surprisingly pleasing.
He examined the access card next. According to the information printed on the front, she was Evelyn Maier. It was definitely her card, because there was a small, grainy photograph of her on the other side, under the university emblem. There was also a ten-digit number, her student code, and that was all. It was a terribly uninformative card. He sat at the tiny table and studied the unmoving woman on the bed. Evelyn. He wanted to find out more. He wanted the little glimmer of concern he felt about her to dissipate, soothed away by the balm of information.
Whenever he was worried or upset about something, he’d find out more about it, and inevitably the anxiety would fade in the light of cold, hard facts. There was no reason why that approach shouldn’t work now.
He fished his own mobile out of his pocket. Owen would not be happy about the interruption, but that was too bad.
Owen didn’t answer the first time, so Mason redialed. He listened to it ring, over and over, rapping his fingers on the table impatiently. At last his brother answered, out of breath.
“Mace, this better be good! I’m with a blonde here, and she’s fucking redefining the meaning of blow job!”
“I need you to do one thing for me, Owe, then you can go back to your blonde and rewrite the whole bloody Kama Sutra if you want to. Just go look at The Pact, and check that Evelyn Maier signed it.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“Is there a problem, Mace?”
“No… Well, maybe. The woman I caught seems quite upset, like possibly she changed her mind about playing, or something. It might be my imagination, but I just want to check that she signed.”
“Well, what’s she doing now? It sounds very quiet. Where the fuck are you, anyway?”
“I’m just upstairs, last room on the third floor. She’s, er…actually passed out—she came, then she fainted.”