by Brooks, JB
Still, Mason’s reaction had been all she could have wished for. She’d watched him from under her lowered eyelashes as she climbed off the bed and stretched, and she’d seen the desire flash across his face as she flaunted her body.
Today it was even more important to keep him wanting her. This was the day she would convince him that her feelings had changed. It wouldn’t be easy to overcome his skepticism, but her freedom depended on her ability to allay his suspicions, so she would use every advantage she had, including turning his lust against him.
Lust. She shivered, reliving her reaction to that kiss. This time, there had been no other way to explain the wetness in her panties, discovered when she got back to the house. It was almost enough to make her call it off.
But that was plain stupid, wasn’t it? After all, if kissing Mason turned her on, wouldn’t it just make her task a little less unpleasant?
He arrived at nine o’clock. She’d just finished breakfast when he rapped on her door and let himself in without waiting for her to answer. He was wearing black jeans, a dark-gray t-shirt, and a serious expression. He hadn’t shaved and dark stubble shadowed his jaw and framed his hard, lean lips. He looked broodingly sexy, but also tired and anxious. Kidnapping didn’t seem to agree with him, she thought.
He sat down in the green armchair. She sat on the side of the bed. They looked at each other.
Now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t know how to begin. Even though she’d spent all night planning this conversation, the words stuck in her throat. Fortunately when she didn’t say anything, he started instead.
“Look, Evelyn, about yesterday at the stable… I’m sorry if what happened upset you, but… You didn’t seem to mind. And while I’m really glad that you didn’t slap me and scream, I’m also very confused…” He trailed off, obviously disconcerted.
She guessed that it was a foreign experience for him—not being in control of a conversation or situation—given that he was such an alpha type of male.
But he’d given her a perfect opening. Now she must take care not to sound too rehearsed. A helpful blush crept up her neck and face.
“It’s okay, Mason. I’m not upset about the kiss. In fact, I enjoyed it very much.”
He frowned, and she hurried on. “I realize this is going to sound strange, but I’m not angry with you anymore. I’ve forgiven you.”
He sat back in the chair, his expression morphing from confused to knowing. “Ah, of course you have. And I should be so happy to hear it, that I should immediately let you go? You disappoint me, Evelyn.”
“No! No, Mason. It’s not a trick, that’s not what’s going on here!”
“Really? Then you’ll have to explain it to me.”
She met his gaze squarely. “I don’t want to leave. I wouldn’t go, even if you said I could.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve got…feelings…for you.”
His brows shot up. “Yes, Evelyn. I know about your feelings for me. You told me two days ago that you’d never forgive me, and you wanted to see me punished for what I did to you. You accused me of rape. My memory works perfectly well, you know.”
“So does mine, damn it! I know what I said, but now everything’s changed. And I’m not happy about it, but I can’t ignore what I’m feeling. It’s too powerful.”
“Evelyn,” he said, managing to sound patient and annoyed at the same time, “how can you expect me, or anyone in their right mind for that matter, to believe you’ve gone from despising me to powerful feelings almost overnight?” He started to laugh. “I know I’m a great kisser, but please!”
She stared at him until he stopped chuckling.
“Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?”
“What?”
“Stockholm syndrome. You must have heard of it—they’ve made movies about it and from time to time it pops up in the news when there are hostage situations. It’s when a victim falls in love with the person who kidnapped them and starts to sympathize and identify with them.”
“Well, yeah, I have heard of it. But it’s just a load of nonsense.”
“No, it’s not! I’m doing my thesis on posttraumatic stress disorder and you know that’s real, don’t you? Stockholm syndrome is quite closely related. And it can happen really quickly because of the stress of the events that lead to it. It’s one of the ways the subconscious tries to deal with the trauma of being victimized and helpless—if it can trick the mind into believing that it loves the aggressor and agrees with what they are doing, then the situation is no longer perceived as a threat.”
He looked guilty, unable to make eye contact, and she guessed that using terms like victim and aggressor made him feel uncomfortable. Still, he shook his head. “Okay, but even if it is true, you can’t have it because you know about it.”
She gave a short gasp of laughter. “Oh, that’s a ridiculous thing to say! Do you think people with psychological disorders aren’t aware that they have them? They often understand their own problems better than their doctors do!”
“That’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say is that if you know why you’re getting these feelings, then you also know that the feelings aren’t real. They’re caused by something else, so you shouldn’t believe in them.”
“It doesn’t work like that!” She huffed in exasperation. While she hadn’t expected him to fall for her story hook, line, and sinker, she hadn’t expected him to take this avenue of argument either.
“Look, have you ever been jealous of somebody?”
“Obviously,” he said guardedly. “Hasn’t everybody?”
“I’d imagine so. Now when you were jealous, you were aware of your feelings, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you probably thought they were wrong, that being jealous is bad. Maybe you tried to stop.”
She didn’t mean it as a question, but he answered all the same. “Sure. It gets drummed into everybody as kids that you mustn’t be jealous.”
“Right. But when you tried to stop being jealous, did you truly manage it? Could you really make those feelings go completely away?”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’d say and do the right things, but inside I still felt jealousy. I just wouldn’t let anybody else know.”
“Exactly! You can’t just switch emotions on and off. So even though I know my feelings for you are wrong, and caused by external stress, I still feel them, very strongly, and I can’t just make them go away. Believe me, I wish I could!”
“I still don’t think it’s the same. It just seems so…farfetched.”
Damn but he was stubborn! He looked so skeptical. In fact, he looked downright annoyed. She needed to step up the persuasiveness.
He rose from the chair. He was going to leave! It might be hours, or even the next day, before he came back.
She hopped lightly off the bed and moved quickly toward him. Placing her hand in the middle of his chest, she gave him a little shove.
“Wait, Mason. Sit down, please.”
He sank back into the chair and she followed him quickly, climbing onto the seat on her knees, straddling his thighs.
“If it’s so farfetched, would I want to do this?”
She shuffled as close to him as possible, her body pushing against his, the buttons of his jeans pressing into the juncture of her wide-spread thighs, chafing against her pussy through their clothes. In this position, her face was higher than his. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and yanked his head back then plastered her lips to his.
She felt shock course through his body with a palpable shiver and his muscles go rigid in surprise. He grabbed the arms of the chair and pressed his lips closed firmly. Resisted.
Tumultuous emotions rose inside her—heat, frustration, and raging, unwilling lust. The bastard had made her want him against her will, and now he was resisting! Now he was being cautious and careful and all concerned about the consequences! Not acceptable.
She sank her teeth into his lower lip.
She took the opportunity to jab her tongue into his mouth and begin a ravishing exploration, as he’d done to her the night before. He didn’t resist, nor did he respond, sitting passively as she pulled his head from one side to the other to better reach all the dark spaces of his mouth. But there was no way he could hide the erection that sprang to life beneath her, and triumph surged through her veins at the evidence of his almost instant arousal.
He tasted of minty toothpaste and coffee, and she lapped at the slick skin of his inner cheeks. The friction of his stubbly upper lip and chin against her smooth skin was a sensual contrast that drove her wild. She dragged her mouth over his rough cheek and down the side of his neck, licking and biting at the thick tendon above his collarbone. With one hand, she tugged his head to the side to better expose his throat, while her other hand dropped from his hair to his bicep, fingers wrapping over the clenched muscle. Her head whirled from the concentrated scent of aftershave and clean, musky male skin, and she opened her mouth wide over the sweet spot where his neck met his shoulder, sucking hard and rubbing her tongue against the patch of flesh that she’d trapped. His involuntary shudder thrilled her, and she wondered if she was bruising him. But she couldn’t ease up. In evoking his arousal, she had summoned her own. Moisture throbbed from her cunt, and her clit was a tight ball of nerve endings as she ground herself against him. She had to get closer.
***
Mason’s head was spinning. He was utterly shell-shocked by Evelyn’s sensual assault. She’d been so set against him, so full of hate and cold anger, that he would never, in a million years, have expected her to throw herself at him in this manner. Although deeply suspicious of her motives, the searing desire ripping through his body rendered him incapable of thinking, of reasoning. She’d caught him on the proverbial back foot, and all he could do was react as she turned his head this way and that to invade his mouth with her sweet, darting tongue.
Or try not to react. Some tiny part of his brain insisted that he should not play along, not meekly do as she wished, at least not until he understood more of what she was about. Whatever she was trying to prove, he should not help her, for to do so might be to his own detriment. So he held on to the chair with a death grip, and wondered exactly how far she’d go.
She was a sinuous nymph astride his thighs, a goddess turned lap dancer, and she embodied everything that he thought beautiful and desirable. She could bewitch him with a touch, a taste, even a look. Never in his life had he been so close to losing control.
Her aggression was an unexpected aphrodisiac to him. He had some idea of how far from the norm it was for her to take the upper hand in any sexual encounter, and the fact that she was doing so with him lent an appealing desperation to her clumsy seduction. Unfortunately he couldn’t bring himself to believe she was desperate for him, and not just desperate to escape.
On a sudden impatient gasp, she sat back and pulled her vest over her head, throwing it to the floor. Her spectacular tits bobbled under his nose, swollen and sensitive, the nipples already stimulated to hard, pointed buds from the way she’d rubbed against him.
He stifled a groan, his body clamoring for action. He tried closing his eyes, but that was worse. It intensified the stimulation from her grinding, writhing body against his hard stillness, and, oh god, he could smell her, the tang of female arousal. He opened his eyes again and gritted his teeth, fortifying himself to endure without retaliating.
***
Damn his stubborn hide! Even when she took off her vest, Mason still didn’t move, but his eyes darkened and his cock surged beneath her.
She caressed her breasts in rough circles and plucked at her nipples, then with a sudden flood of desperation, grabbed the front of his t-shirt and dragged it up his body, revealing his powerful stomach and chest. He was as solid as a brick wall, each perfectly defined muscle taut and straining, begging to be touched.
He refused to help take off his t-shirt so she left it rucked up under his arms, in a thin band across his pecs. Then, with a groan of anticipation, she lowered her torso to his and dragged her aching breasts across that enticing display of muscle. Skin glided across skin in a sweeping wave of heat, and they both groaned at the incredible sensation.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need him to do anything. Just the sight and feel of him were enough to drive her to a frenzy of wanting, and she rubbed herself against him like a lithe animal. She licked his chest, trying to capture the essence of him, and sucked at his nipples until he cried out in a strangled voice, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more, more of his taste, more of his smell.
She backed off the chair, sliding her body down his and insinuating herself on her knees between his legs. Her gaze never wavered from his as she undid the buttons of his jeans and parted the heavy fabric, revealing the bulge of his erection, tenting his boxer shorts. She slid her hand under the waistband, and his body went as still as a stone as he waited for her to touch him.
She could hardly believe what she was doing. She wasn’t a big fan of oral sex. She knew the basics, for while he hadn’t believed in cunnilingus, her ex-husband Joel had been a blow-job enthusiast, especially when she had her period and he couldn’t fuck her. It had been a thankless and one-sided task, and she’d come to hate the smell and taste of him.
But now she was hungry—no, starving—for the taste of Mason Brady.
She drew him out, pushing his boxers down and wedging them under the heavy sac of his testicles when he made no move to help her. His big body trembled as she held him, long, thick, and engorged, too wide to wrap her fingers around. He watched her avidly, his eyes narrowed, all dark, dilated pupils with scarcely a glimmer of green.
She wrapped both hands around him, one above the other, and moved them slowly up and down, learning the feel of him, the texture of his skin and the power beneath the surface. He grew even larger as she fondled him, and she let her slow caresses build up speed and rhythm until she was jerking him off diligently.
When two drops of gleaming liquid oozed out of the slit of his straining cock, she bent to caress him with her mouth. She licked the top clean of his fluids and let his taste spread over her tongue. Her body responded as if she had taken a hit of pure pheromones—which she probably had, she thought wryly. Her pussy was so drenched that the narrow crotch of her improvised hot pants must have been soaked through.
He was waiting, his whole frame tensed, for her to move, to continue what she’d begun, but she was gripping him in suspended torment while she savored him. A sense of power grew within her. Holding him in her thrall was heady stuff.
On impulse, she leaned in closer and trapped his cock between her breasts. She pushed them together with her palms and held him in place in her deep cleavage. He was long enough that she could bend her chin down toward her chest and take the tip of him into her mouth.
The noise that ripped from his throat was pure animal. The arms of the chair creaked as his fists tightened.
She sucked the head of his cock and traced the underside with the tip of her tongue. More rubbing with her breasts and teasing with her tongue had him jerking his hips, trying to get deeper into her mouth.
She finally released him from her cleavage and bent lower, licking up and down his length and getting him slippery with her saliva. Then she gripped him firmly near the base with one hand and sank her lips over the top, sucking hard and stroking him in time with the pulling of her mouth.
She reached down with her other hand and felt the fabric of her shorts between her legs—drenched, as she suspected. She slipped her fingers under the shorts and panties, into her cleft, seeking out her throbbing clit. But after just a few moments of touching herself, she withdrew. She was on the verge of coming, and she couldn’t afford to do that before she finished with Mason.
But what should she do? Should she make him come with her mouth, and would she
be able to swallow when he did? Toward the end of her marriage, she’d gagged every time with Joel—not that he’d cared—and she didn’t want that to happen with Mason.
It was the alternative that she really wanted. Her pussy was achingly empty, her channel clenching unsatisfyingly on itself. The solution was right there in her hands, so why shouldn’t she take what she wanted, what her body needed? It was all for the sake of her escape plan anyway…
She laid his cock down, her cunt spasming at the sight of it curving up to his belly button. Oh god, it was going to spear her so hard and deep! Her legs were shaking as she rose from her knees and pulled off her shorts and panties.
She straddled him again, heart pounding, wondering if he’d finally react.
As she reached between them to position him at her opening, she looked at his face and caught her breath. He was gritting his teeth so hard that the tendons in his neck stood out and the muscles of his jaw visibly bunched under his stubble-covered skin. His eyes were barely open, a diamond-hard glitter under slit lids, but he watched her with a single-minded focus that blistered her senses. Her mind screamed danger. This was a man on the very edge of losing control. He was pure unadulterated power, and barely restrained animal instinct.
But so was she. She’d never been this aroused, this feral, and this determined to take what she wanted at any price. She stared back into the furnace in his eyes and lowered herself onto his cock.
This time, there was no pain. There was nothing but the overwhelmingly powerful sensation of being stretched and filled, to the utmost and beyond. It should hurt, she expected it to hurt, but her capacity seemed limitless. Every fiber of her being was fixated on the point of their joining, and the world beyond their bodies seemed to swirl dimly around them, disjointed and distant.
The slow slide onto his flesh finally ended with her body rammed against his, thighs splayed, and her delicate, feminine folds stretched taut, in a moment so intimate, it took her breath away.
Then she rose up, dragging at his cock with her inner muscles, so that she could do it again and again, that glorious slide to pleasure and possession. She rode him for what seemed like an age, totally captivated by the changing and growing sensations, until her climax tore over her like a hot wind, taking her utterly by surprise and burning away her defenses.