The Queen of Dauphine Street

by Thea de Salle

  She liked the idea of being his on-call slut.

  She could smell his body, could feel the heat radiating off him while she fumbled with his jeans. He was so hard his cock practically sprung from his shorts when she pulled open the flap of his boxers. She lapped at the head, a few tentative rubs of tongue against his slit before she parted her lips, stretching wide to take him. He grunted as she slid him back, sucking him in and encasing him in all that wet warmth. She took more inches, the fingers of her left hand closing around his base and squeezing. He grunted, yanked on the leash, and she pulled her head back, eyes casting up to look at him.

  Their gazes locked. They stayed locked as she sucked him off. There was nothing delicate about the blow job. She was a wet orifice he wanted to use, and he pumped at her, giving her just enough leash so she could pull back if he rammed against her gag reflex. Except she didn’t take the easy way out; she let him choke her, liking how he filled her mouth and throat. Lewd, wet squelching noises filled the air as he slid in and out of her gaping maw, her hand working the part of the shaft she couldn’t take into her gullet. It was wet. Spit rained everywhere. Her lips were smeared, her chin was smeared, he was smeared. She loved how vile it was, how whorish. She stared up at him from the floor, allowing him to control her with the lead, him tugging every few seconds to remind her she was at his mercy. He took everything she offered and more, the hand of his injured arm resting atop her head as he face-fucked her.

  It didn’t take long for him to growl, “Enough.” He pulled from her, a long tendril of spit connecting his cock to her lips. She licked it away and was about to wipe her hand across her face to rid herself of the saliva and pre-cum, but he shook his head.

  “Leave it. You look sexy as hell.”

  She answered by craning her neck and giving his dick another long, thorough tonguing. He snorted and backed away from her, pulling on her leash. She crawled toward him on her hands and knees, watching him. His face was as red as his cock. His brow was furrowed, his mouth pinched in a line, but he wasn’t upset. No, he was concentrating. She had every bit of his focus, and she liked it, especially knowing how she must look.

  Messy. Violated.

  Obedient.

  Her knees scuffed over the fine carpets as he backed away, pulling her along with him. When his ass hit the bed, he stopped and wiggled out of his jeans, kicking them aside before rolling his boxers down and letting them pool on the floor.

  “Up,” he said, patting the bed. “Hands and knees.” She rubbed against his legs before climbing onto the mattress, him holding the fist-wrapped lead the entire time and guiding her pace. When she pulled too far ahead of him, she was reminded by the bite of the collar into her neck. It forced her to be hyperaware of her own positioning as well as his. She was cognizant of every movement he made, of every breath he took. She was on his lead physically as well as mentally.

  Which was why it worked for her. The connection was intense. She was so wet she could feel it on her thighs.

  So could he. The moment she was where he wanted her, he loosened his hold on the leash so he could flip the skirt of her dress over her hips. The backs of his knuckles trailed over a bared ass cheek before he tugged her panties down. Not off, just down, so they hovered midthigh, stretched taut around her legs. He reached for her pussy, his fingers gliding over her lips and then spreading them so she was open. She shivered. Her molten hole was exposed, the air in the room cool thanks to climate control. He gave the leash another solid tug and she glanced over her shoulder only to discover him looking down at her.

  No, into her. He was peering into her because his fingers had her splayed. It was wicked and divine and only served to make her want him more.

  “You’re pink. Soaked and pink,” he murmured more to himself than to Maddy before he knelt behind her. She couldn’t see him anymore, he was gone, but she felt him a second later, his face burying in her flesh. He maintained his hold on the leash, but his concentration was on acquainting himself as intimately as possible with her pussy. There was no tongue at first, just him parting her with his lips and smearing himself in the copious juice her body had wept. She groaned, her muscles flexing, and his tongue snaked out to taste her. He started low, at her clit, raking over it and milking her for a gasp.

  “Dear Christ. Yes. D-dove.”

  “Darren,” he growled with a hard jerk on her leash. “Call me Darren.”

  “Fine. Yes. Darren. Fuck, do that again. Please,” she implored, her knees spreading wider in invitation. He was kind enough to accommodate her, lapping her from clit to hole. His tongue tip danced around the inner rim of her tunnel, teasing it, tickling her nerve endings, and she arched her hips back. He tugged the leash again, then pulled it taut, and she held still as he explored her, delving into all of her folds and crannies, sucking her wet from her swollen flesh and, one time, sliding his tongue all the way inside of her, as far as it would go, and laying it flat so he filled her up.

  She moaned, every muscle in her body tensing, her insides aching for a hard, fast pounding. He wasn’t ready to fuck her yet. He let his tongue dip down again, back at her clit and hood and flicking from left to right. Her eyes rolled up in her head; her fingers curled over in the coverlet on the bed. He never slowed, furiously working her distended nub while she panted in front of him, her body growing hotter and more tense with her mounting pleasure.

  He slurped. He sucked. He claimed.

  She wouldn’t come yet, she wasn’t there, but he was roughly shoving her toward it. She wailed aloud when he pulled away from her with a final, rude smack of lips, her pussy feeling abandoned, but he didn’t leave her hanging. Not Darren. There was pressure on the mattress behind her, weight shifting, and then there was cock. Oh, was there cock. Hot cock. Fat cock. Long cock. He speared into her, balls deep with one shove. She’d asked for rough and he delivered, all ten inches of him filling her steaming snatch. She groaned, feeling him pressing against her walls, feeling his tip buried so deep inside her that it was in her guts, in her stomach, and then he was pulling back, pulling half of that delicious shaft from her body only to shove it back in again.

  He tugged on the leash, jerking up her head, stealing just a bit of her breath before he railed the shit out of her. It was not the gentle thing it had been in her bed that morning. It was not polite. It was not making love. It was raw, nasty, sweaty, grunty sex, him fucking her with abandon. Every push of him into her swollen cunt raked him over her sweet spot. She howled, her eyes closing as she gave herself over to him completely. She was a hole—his hole—and he reminded her of that with every smack of his hips against her ass, with every pull on the collar around her neck.

  She’d never felt more possessed. It was more than just the size of his dick, too; it was that she’d permitted herself to be at his mercy. She’d given him that power over her. She’d told him how the game worked, what the leash meant to her, and allowed him to take over from there. She hadn’t known Darren long, but she felt like she’d known him forever—she felt like she could trust him with her everything.

  Smack. Smack. Smack.

  The boy knew how to fuck. He had the stamina to jackhammer her, and so he did, shifting his position just slightly so he had one knee on the bed, one foot on the floor to brace him. She mewled, she moaned, she whispered his name like a prayer. He just kept going at her, relentless, and she felt herself topping out, ready to crest.

  “I want to come,” she rasped, her mouth dry. “L-let me. Please.”

  “You’re so sweet to ask,” he said, but he didn’t give her permission. Instead his hand, lead still attached, plunged into her hair, grabbing a good fistful of it and yanking. She screamed. It was the perfect combination of pleasure and pain, him gripping close enough to the scalp that she wouldn’t lose strands, but hard enough she was keenly aware of the pressure. More thrusts, more wet, both of them smeared and sticky even before his release. The spit on h
er face had dried, but that was the only part of her that was dry anymore, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body, a thin sheen of pussy juice painting her legs.

  As he bottomed out inside of her, she began flexing around him, her cunt gripping him as much as she could. He noticed, groaning as he leaned farther over her back, so tall he didn’t even have to climb up onto the bed to blanket her. He lined her from thighs all the way to the back of her neck.

  “Come,” he hissed into her ear. “Come for me, you pretty bitch.”

  He didn’t have to say it twice. It was like a switch, his deep voice, so often laced with laughter, instructing her to do this thing, now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been holding back until that moment, so the orgasm, when it hit, took her by surprise. She screamed, her ass slapping back at him as the first pulse erupted. Spasm after spasm rocked through her pussy. No, through her body, every inch of her contracting and releasing at her peak moment. He didn’t take long to follow her. Ten seconds, maybe fifteen, and her convulsions became his. It was so intense, so very deep inside of her, she could actually feel him come, and her mind produced image after image of that fat cock head spurting jizz all over her insides.

  I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  She didn’t even know what she couldn’t do, only that she couldn’t do it, and she whimpered his name, let loose with one last howl, and collapsed on the bed in front of him.

  TWENTY

  HE NEVER, IN all his thirty-one years, had experienced anything like that fuck. It shook him to the core, and he stayed hunched over her, supporting himself on one arm and one knee so he didn’t crush her with his weight. She’d splattered on the mattress beneath him, her face buried in the coverlet. He was still inside of her and oh, how she throbbed around him. He didn’t want to leave, would have been content to live inside of her, but he forced himself vertical and slowly pulled out. The ensuing deluge was flat-out pornographic and he licked his lips, gazing at the way her pussy gaped, at the white fluid dribbling its way down her thigh and toward the crease at her knee.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  He stroked her back, across her shoulders, and down her spine. He ran his fingers through her hair. She mumbled, but didn’t move, so he took it upon himself to unclasp the red collar, wincing when he saw the bite it had left in her tender skin.

  What if I hurt her? I mean, wasn’t that the point? Or . . .

  “You okay, babe?”

  “Mmmf.”

  “Maddy? Babe?”

  He was gentle when he crawled onto the mattress beside her, gentler still when he looped his arm around her waist and gathered her close. His healthy arm was trapped beneath her body, his injured one draped over her shoulders. His chin rested atop her head. She wriggled in, face pressing to the base of his throat as she struggled to catch her breath.

  Please be okay.

  “You,” was all she managed at first.

  “Me? Was I too rough? Too much? We don’t have—”

  “You were perfect,” she finished, interrupting him, and he rubbed his cheek against her so-soft hair. She pressed against him, maneuvering one of her legs between his knees so they were tangled, him naked, her in disarray. Her clothing was tugged aside or down but not off. She was rumpled and wrinkled and looked well fucked. Better yet, she smelled like him. He liked that, and he nosed at her, pressing soft kisses to whatever Maddy parts he could reach with his mouth.

  They quieted, words unnecessary, their soft touches communicating everything they wanted or needed to say. Eventually, Maddy dozed off, and he disengaged to slip off to the shower. The room smelled like pussy and cum, and he smiled to himself as he padded over to his suitcase. They hadn’t bothered giving him his own separate room, they’d just shoved him in with her. It hadn’t even occurred to him to protest it.

  Everything with her was just so easy. Too easy, a cynic might have said, but Darren didn’t want to be jaded. A couple days after his ex-girlfriend had him shot, it was hard to believe anything would work out okay, but he’d try, damn his eternal optimism. Maybe he’d even try it with Maddy, if she was so inclined. He had ways to safeguard himself from making the same mistakes over again. For one, he could cast toxic people from his life before the fourth and fifth and sixteenth abuses. It’d only been stubborn pride telling him that he alone could fix Kelly’s problems. It had allowed the wound that was their relationship to fester for too long. He firmly believed people deserved second chances, but when the same mistakes were made over and over again, it became obvious the person didn’t care about fixing it and was just giving lip service with their apologies.

  No more. That was done.

  For two, he could invest only in a person who was as invested in their own welfare as he was. His years had taught him that people were all works in progress; he didn’t expect perfection any more than he wanted someone to expect perfection from him. He just wanted someone to love themselves as much as he loved them. Had Kelly done that, she might have gotten the help she needed—not because she felt she ought to for his sake, but because she felt she ought to for her sake. Sometimes people got down, and he could support them during a downswing, but he wasn’t willing to carry them emotionally all day, forever. He’d done that before and it was exhausting.

  And last, but by no means least, he could find someone who knew how to put someone else’s needs above their own from time to time. He didn’t want someone to worship him or serve him. He didn’t want or need to be the apple of someone’s eye. He just wanted equal give and take. He wanted to sometimes get out of his relationship what he put into it. He wanted a partnership.

  He looked at the bed, wondering if the dozing, curled-up ball of woman beside him was that person. Did she even want to be that person?

  She’s such a mess right now. It’s great.

  At some point her panties had worked their way down her legs, and they dangled from her calf. He pulled them off and she stirred, but then she flopped over onto her other hip. There was a wet spot beneath her, a puddle of nasty, so he got a towel from the bathroom and wedged it under her rump in hopes of capturing any more spillage.

  She didn’t wake. He snagged a throw off the back of the couch and draped it over her, letting her snooze at the foot of the bed like a big, sticky pussycat.

  I’ve fucked her into a stupor.

  He was more proud of himself than he really ought to be.

  After a much-needed sink bath, he brushed his teeth, his hair, and put on fresh boxers and jeans. He grabbed his phone, seeing to his few messages. Bob from the company needed an email back about moving a construction date out; his mother and sister both called to check on him. Sergeant Lopez left him a voice mail checking in and updating him on the case. They’d created a tip line and were tracing Kelly’s credit cards and cell phone, but so far no leads. Sergeant Lopez wished him the best and told him to keep his eyes open.

  She didn’t have to worry about that. Anytime Darren was outside, he felt like a hunted animal.

  He had settled into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room with his phone to play a game when a light knock sounded on the door. He glanced at Maddy; she was still comatose, so he padded across the room, opened the door, and peeked outside. Standing in the hall was a tall, thin black man with gold-rimmed glasses, a white shirt, a skinny black tie, and black slacks. His hair was shorn close to his skull, the temples silvering, his shoes polished to gleaming.

  “Darren, yes? I’m Cylan. Sol’s accountant and zookeeper. Hello.”

  Darren held up a finger, indicating he’d be right back. He let the door close and snagged his key card from his discarded jeans before returning to the hall, bare chested and barefoot.

  “Hey, man. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand, and Cylan shook it. “Sorry I’m a little underdressed. I just got out of the shower and didn’t want to make too much noise. Maddy’s asleep.”

&
nbsp; “No, it’s fine. I just wanted to introduce myself and warn you that we have press out front. They’ve found out Maddy’s in town and are frothing because of the shooting. Vaughan, the head of our security, is handling it, but he wanted me to tell you for the time being that you should plan on using the back entrance to come and go. Call ahead for a car whenever you need it and we’ll have one for you.”

  They know we’re here, they’re reporting we’re here. Kelly could find out.

  Or, if she’s running, she might be too busy to pay attention to gossip about Madeline Roussoux.

  It’s fine, Darren. It’s fine.

  He must have had a look on his face, because Cylan frowned. “Do you need me to send someone? Security or a medical attendant or . . .”

  “Nah, nah. I’m just—”

  Panicking? Maybe I should call that shrink Maddy talked about. I planned to go to my regular one when I got home, but I feel crazy now. Fine one minute, worried sick the next.

  “—I’ll be okay,” he said, sounding far more confident than he felt.

  Cylan eyed him. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated before saying anything. “You haven’t met Vaughan yet. I don’t know that I know anyone—except maybe Sol himself—who’s a bigger asshole. That said, he knows what he’s doing. He’s ex-military, worked for the government, and did security on a scale much bigger than a private hotel. He’s disgusting and he smells funny, but while you’re on this property, you’re safe. I truly believe that.”

  Cylan’s assurance made Darren feel better. Not because Vaughan had a résumé—though that certainly didn’t hurt—but because Cylan didn’t strike him as a bullshitter. His handshake was stiff, and he hadn’t smiled once.

  If he was going to offer reassurance, Darren would take it at face value.

  “Vaughn sounds like he leaves a lasting impression,” Darren said.

  “He picks his socks by sniffing the ones on the floor to see which are cleanest.” That was the last thing Cylan said before he turned on his heel and walked away, not saying good-bye, not offering anything else anecdotal, simply letting himself into a room three doors down from the one Maddy and Darren shared and disappearing.