Fighting Attraction

by Sarah Castille

  “Yes. But not for a few years. There wasn’t much more she could do. Part of it is just how I am, and part is…daddy issues.” I give a laugh, trying to shrug off years of my father’s controlling and abusive behavior and my desperate attempts to please a man who never wanted me.

  “If you’re looking for help…”

  God. Can this get any worse? “I’m not looking for help,” I bite out. “I don’t need help. I need pain. I saw you with that woman, and I thought maybe you could do that for me.”

  He is silent for so long I give up hope. Suddenly, I’m done with this whole thing. “Just let me down.”

  “Not yet,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m going to give you what you want.”

  He walks around me. Touching. A brush of his hand through my hair. Fingers feathering over my jaw. A stroke of his palm over my ass. My body tenses, ready for a blow, a slap, a strike. But it never comes. Instead, his soft touches arouse me, make me hot. Wet. And my cheeks burn, knowing he can see what he does to me.

  “You are beautiful.” He cups my breasts, squeezes and strokes just enough to feed my desire but not enough to hurt. Everything south of my belly button tightens, and I let out a soft moan.

  Jack lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not the sound I like to hear.” He pinches my nipples so hard my eyes water, and I jerk in the restraints. And then his warm hands are back, soothing the pain away. “Give me your pain, darlin’.” He pinches my nipples again, giving them a cruel twist that makes me cry out. I’m on a roller coaster of sensation, one moment rocking with pleasure, the next moment writhing in pain. Blood rushes down to my core, and I can feel my pulse throb between my legs. I am wet. So wet. I can’t remember the last time I was this aroused. So desperately needing to come.

  His callused, rough fingers run down my body and over my hips. He cups my ass, his fingers sliding over my knickers, and then he releases me to explore my curves again. I try to anticipate his touch, swaying toward his hands.

  “Don’t move.”

  I freeze in place. Is this how to get more of what I want? Maybe if I move, he’ll punish me. I lean toward him again, and he lifts his hands.

  “What did I say?”

  I hear none of his soothing, Southern drawl in the cold, sharp tone of his voice. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my heart pounds against my ribs.

  “You told me not to move.”

  A sensual smile curves his lips, and he crosses the room to the black couch by the wall. “In this room, you do what I tell you to do. You have no control here. You can’t ask, coax, or force me to do anything. You take what I give you, when and how I want to give it. And right now, I want to give you nothing.” He settles on the couch, and flips through a magazine that was lying on the table, leaving me suspended, aroused, and alone.

  “Ramp…Master Jack?”

  “No talking unless you want to spend the rest of the night like that,” he says without looking up.

  Nipples aching, pussy throbbing, I twist in the restraints. My muscles burn, and my shoulders protest my confinement. Frustrated and overwhelmed by the combination of physical pain and unfulfilled desire, I whimper.

  Jack doesn’t even look up from his magazine. “I’ve seen your scars. You can take a lot more than that.”

  I take in a deep breath and then another, using the tricks I’ve learned to get through the pain of the blade. But unspent arousal is a different beast. It is an ache that spreads through my body, getting worse with every passing minute because every time I move I am reminded that I am half naked and chained to the ceiling and my only source of relief is sitting five feet away.

  Seeking a distraction, I glance around the room, but it only serves to worsen the situation. This room is about pain and sex and nothing else. White walls, gray floors, red carpet, black furniture, racks of whips and crops and equipment I can’t understand but all of which I know I want to try. A cold, ultramodern hotel room for the discerning sadist in one’s life.

  After an interminable amount of time, Rampage places his magazine on the table and walks toward me. I tremble, trying desperately not to move as he scans me with his hooded gaze.

  “How do you feel?”

  Not the question I was expecting, and I can hardly tell him I’m desperate to come after insisting this had nothing to do with sex. “Uncomfortable. My muscles are…sore.”

  He gives me a half smile. “That’s all?” He stares pointedly at my breasts, my erect nipples, visible through my bra, giving my arousal away.

  “That’s all,” I say.

  “Perfect.” He reaches for the cuffs, and I look up at him, confused.

  “You said we were going to do a scene.”

  “We just did.”

  My breath leaves me in a rush. “But…this isn’t the kind of hurting I was looking for.”

  “But you do hurt.” A statement. Not a question. His fingers glide up my inner thigh, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs that serves only to increase the ache in my pussy.

  “Yes, it hurts.”

  He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat from his body as his finger stops its upward journey at the edge of my knickers. “Where does it hurt? Tell me.”

  My brain does a disconnect. Rampage. Jack. My high-fiving, fist-bumping gym buddy. This dangerously sensual Dom. I open my mouth, and only a whimper comes out.

  Without warning, Jack shoves my knickers aside and slicks his finger through my slit. “Does it hurt here?”

  Shocked at his unexpected, intimate touch, I jerk against the restraints.

  His Southern accent returns, husky and soothing. “Yes, it does. Poor Pen.” He presses his thick finger into my entrance, and I almost choke on the sensation.

  “Christ. You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “I would love to fuck you right now. I’d tie you up on my table, spread you out, and fuck you till you scream.”

  Electricity sheets across my skin, as I struggle to reconcile this man with the fist-bumping Rampage I know. “This isn’t supposed to be about sex.” I’ve never really enjoyed sex. Never been with a man who was interested in my pleasure. I’ve always been a means for getting someone else off, nothing more.

  “But it is.” He pushes two fingers deep inside me. “At least it is for you.”

  I groan and he adds a third finger, stretching me to the edge of pain. His thumb circles my clit, and I am caught in a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of need.

  “That’s it,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Give me every dirty, indecent thought you’ve ever had, every dark craving, every sick fantasy. I can make them all come true.” His voice rumbles, raw and rough, thick with desire. “Give me your pain.”

  My hands clench into fists. My head falls back. A low rolling ache builds inside me. I am coiled tight, tight…

  He pulls his fingers away.

  “No.” I gasp as the sudden loss of sensation cuts through me like a knife.

  “We’re done.” He presses his fingers to his mouth and licks his lips. “That’s as close as I will ever get to tasting you.”

  “Please.” I am so wound up, so desperate to come, I am not above begging.

  “You wanted to hurt,” he says. “That’s as much as I can hurt you. Don’t touch yourself when you go home. No fingers. No vibrators. No men. Don’t get yourself off.” He pinches my nipple, and the throb in my pussy turns to a sharp, fierce ache.

  “It hurts.”

  “I know it does, darlin’. That’s the point.”

  My gaze drops below his belt to the thick erection pressing against his fly. My pain arouses him. At least I know this isn’t easy for him either.

  He releases the restraints and rubs my arms to restore the circulation. I tremble beneath his touch, lost in a sea of unmet desire.

  “Let’s get you dressed.” He picks up my clothes and helps me dress, his fingers making qui
ck work of the buttons on my blouse. When I’m fully clothed, he clasps my chain around my neck, then twists my hair into a ponytail and wraps the elastic around it with practiced efficiency.

  My stomach knots at the thought of all the women he’s dressed and undressed in this room, the ponytails he’s fixed, the dirty things he’s said. But I have no right to feel jealous. He made me no promises. Told me no lies. I had my one night, my one chance.

  I just never expected to want another, and especially not with him.

  * * *

  After a sleepless night of trying to keep my promise, I give in to my burning need for release and hit the shower with my vibrator in hand. After I’ve relieved enough tension to feel almost human again, I get dressed, feed my cat, Clarice, and drive to the office, arriving only a minute before Ray walks in the door.

  “What happened to you?” he demands the moment he sees me.

  Oh God. Do I look like I spent a night in sleepless sexual frustration and a morning having multiple orgasms in the shower?

  “Nothing.” I turn on the coffeepot and give myself a mental check—skirt, shoes, top, bra—nothing outwardly amiss. “Why?”

  Ray shrugs. “You’ve never been early before, especially on a Thursday when you’re revving up for the weekend.” He tosses his jacket on the coatrack and stretches out on the couch. People might think he’s lazy, but Ray gets up at four a.m. every morning, goes for a run, lifts weights, showers, and makes breakfast, all before normal people, including his wife, Sia, roll out of bed.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get an early start on the day. And I’m not a car, Ray. I don’t rev.”

  “You have a date?”

  “No, I did not have a date. Not that it’s any of your business.” Usually I just let Ray’s nosy questions wash over me, but today, his interest grates.

  “You need to go on a date.” He folds his arms behind his head. “It’s been a long time. You’re letting that fucking Vetch Retch ruin your life.”

  Still unsettled over my encounter last night, I spin around and glare. “There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin. First, you are married with a kid, so you’re not in a position to give me dating advice. Second, you’re a guy. If I need dating advice, I’ll ask a woman. Third, and FYI, I have been on dates since Vetch; I just haven’t shared them with you. Fourth, no, I am not letting him ruin my life. I’ve just become more cautious about who I go out with. And finally, long time is a relative term.”

  Ray studies me, his dark eyes boring into my soul. “Who?”

  “Who what?”

  “Who did you go out with and not tell me about?”

  Mercifully, the coffeepot beeps, and I pour two cups and then add two creams and two sugars to each of them. “If I didn’t tell you, I might have a reason.”

  Ray bolts up off the couch. “Why? Did someone hurt you? Someone hurts you, and I’ll rip off his balls and stuff them down his throat.”

  “That’s sweet in an unnecessarily overprotective coworker kind of way.” I hand him his coffee and wrap my hands around my own cup, letting out a sigh as the warmth seeps into my perpetually cold hands. “Are you this bad with Sia? I mean, we’re just friends, and you almost wound up in jail for me.”

  “It’s worse.” Ray tenses when the front door closes, and frowns at the wall separating the outer hallway from the reception area as if he can’t tell from the click of heels on the wooden floor who has just come in. “She has to threaten me before we go anywhere ’cause I want to beat up every fucking guy who looks at her. If I didn’t have Redemption to blow off some steam, I’d probably be divorced already.”

  “Who’s getting divorced?” Amanda joins us in the reception area, looking stunning in a fitted, dark gray suit and pearl silk blouse.

  “No one,” I say. “Ray’s having protectiveness issues with the women in his life.”

  “We gotta get Penny hitched.” He sips his coffee and resumes his position, stretched full-out on the couch. “I can’t handle looking after two women, especially since Sam was born. I feel like I gotta be on alert all the time.”

  Amanda’s lips quirk in a smile as she jumps on the “get Penny hitched” bandwagon. “Penny’s looking for a bit of wild, a badass type like Vetch Retch but without the abusive tendencies. You know anyone?”

  “What?” I stare at Amanda, aghast. “I don’t need—”

  “Yeah, I know lots of guys like that.” Ray whips out his phone and scrolls through his address book, muttering to himself. “Stan? No. He’s in a Thai jail. Rick? No, he’s hiding in Panama. Steve? Missing a couple of screws. Arn? Still in rehab. Mike? No. He thinks he’s the reincarnation of Johnny Cash.”

  “Hello.” I wave my free hand in Ray’s face. “I’m happy with things the way they are, thank you very much. I don’t need a man.”

  “You need a man, and you need him bad,” Ray says. “I’m a man. I know these things.”

  “How about you take those psychic skills into the field and leave the guy stuff to me.” Amanda pulls a file from her briefcase. “I’ve got a dude here who says he can’t walk after my client broadsided his car, but his neighbors have seen him doing yard work.”

  Ray takes the file and flips through it. Although we run an almost-paperless office, he insists on hard-copy briefing documents that he shreds as soon as he dictates his report. I like to tease him about kicking it old school, but I suspect his antipathy toward electronic communications has something to do with the rumors about his involvement with the CIA.

  “How ’bout something challenging?” he says with a groan. “Like hunting down an escaped con, or retrieving missile launch codes from a billionaire black-market arms dealer, or spying on the president?”

  “How about a video of Mr. Paul Williams cleaning his gutters before three o’clock this afternoon?” Amanda gestures to the door.

  “Man can’t even finish his morning coffee.” Ray downs the rest of his coffee in one gulp and jumps to his feet.

  “Man loves PI work even though he pretends he doesn’t,” I say as he heads out the door.

  He looks back over his shoulder and gives me a rare smile. He’s one of the best PIs in the city, and although he is in high demand, he is never too busy for Amanda, and he never misses a morning coffee with me.

  Midafternoon, I bring Ray’s report to Amanda for her approval. “Ray caught the guy climbing a tree, fixing his roof, chopping wood, and chasing his dog around the yard. If you’re happy with his report, he can sign a statement in the morning, or I can bring it to Redemption after work. I’m taking a jiu-jitsu class tonight, and I’ll see him there.”

  Amanda laughs. “Yeah, he’d love that. Mixing business and pleasure. No need to harass him. Tomorrow’s fine.”

  I just mixed business and pleasure in the worst possible way, and yet all I can think about is spending another night with Jack at Club Sin. I feel a stab of guilt about going behind her back, but it was just one night, and I haven’t disclosed any secrets or compromised the case. I just don’t know how I’ll deal with seeing Jack at the gym, knowing just what he can give me but never will.

  As if she can read my thoughts, Amanda says, “It looks like we might be able to evict Club Sin by Monday. I just went through the commercial tenancy agreement, and I think I’ve found a loophole. It might be easier to evict them than I initially thought. I’m going to keep it under my hat and bring it up at the hearing on Monday.”

  “What will they do?” I toe the floor, trying to hide my disappointment. “The whole place has been renovated to accommodate all their special equipment. I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy to relocate that quickly.”

  Amanda shrugs. “Not our problem. They took a risk leasing the space instead of buying property outright, although I feel for them because they negotiated a long-term lease with a view to making that investme
nt pay off. If Gerry didn’t want them out so badly, they could have been there for at least another ten years.”

  “That’s great.” I force a smile. “He must be pleased.”

  She doesn’t return my smile. “He is pleased, but I’ll be glad when the case is over, to be honest.” She doodles on a piece of paper in front of her. “Something about Gerry doesn’t sit right with me. He’s too insistent on getting them out fast, too blasé about the legal ramifications of what he’s trying to do, and totally unconcerned about the tenants in the building. I know it’s all business, but one of the reasons I left my old firm was to get away from cold corporate clients like him, and now I feel like I’m falling into that trap again.”

  Maybe because she’s still flying a corporate brand. Amanda worked at one of the biggest law firms in the city before starting up on her own. Although she added her own quirky touches to her new office, outwardly it’s still got a big law firm feel—from her stationery to her website, and from her signage to her logo. Over the last year I’ve come up with a few different ideas for logos and branding, but I’ve never shown them to her. I figure when she wants a change, she’ll hire professionals. She doesn’t need her legal assistant telling her how to brand her business.

  “Anything else you need?”

  “Could you prepare a draft notice of eviction so it’s ready for Monday?” Amanda turns back to her desk. “I’ll bring it to the hearing so we don’t have any more issues with service.”

  “No problem.” A part of me is relieved that the club will be shut down. Although I feel bad for Kitty, Master Damien, and Jack, the temptation is almost too much for me to bear. If the club stayed open, I don’t think I could stay away.

  One taste wasn’t enough.

  One night with Jack has ruined me forever.

  8

  Prepare to be punished

  PENNY

  After work, I head to Redemption. With all the beginner-level fitness classes under my belt, I was up for a new challenge, and the class coordinator, Fuzzy, suggested I try Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which is one of the key martial arts used in MMA fighting. Blade Saw and Shilla the Killa, Redemption’s top female amateur fighter, are teaching tonight, and the dojo is packed with people wearing gis and belts in a variety of colors.