The Prisoner

by Rachael Wade

  “Why has it taken you so long to get me here?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it?” Her hand drifts down and plays with my ring finger. She traces my wedding band, lifting it to study it, as if it’s the most drab thing in the world. What the fuck happened to this girl? Why is she so careless? How did she become so brazen? I want to know her secrets. I want to unravel them. Preferably with my tongue and teeth.

  “It doesn’t bother you that I’m married?”

  “Does it bother you?” She lifts her head and her eyes roll to the fireplace, where my life with Kylie is on full display.

  “Yes. It does.”

  “Yet here I am.”

  “Here you are.”

  “So what will you do with me, Christian Walker?”

  I study her, the thin space between us crackling. Every inch of her is forbidden. Ripe and full, tainted and golden. There’s no way I’m turning back now. “I want to know why you do this. Why so many men? A girl like you could have any man she wants wrapped around her finger.”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” She taps my wedding band. “Why do you do this? When a guy like you could be with a girl like me?”

  “Fair enough.” I grin at her, lacing my fingers with hers. The action is so innocent, yet so intimate, we both glance down to watch our hands intertwine. “I’m trying to figure you out. There’s a lot of talk in this town.”

  “Too much,” she whispers, lifting my knuckle to kiss it. She slides her tongue over my ring and bites it with her teeth, her lashes sweeping up to lock eyes with me. “Too much talking.”

  It happens so fast, I don’t know the ceiling from the floor when her lips touch mine. The ground shakes. The earth stills. There’s an explosion, sending stars bursting all around us. In seconds, my tongue snakes out and delves into her mouth, and her hands clamp tightly around my neck. My hands fly to her hips, gripping and groping, and I’m immediately pushing her backward, toward the edge of the bed. I feel like a clumsy teenager and it pisses me off, so I latch on harder to her hips, bending to bite her neck. A sound escapes me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. It’s broken and strained, as if it’s fighting to claw from my throat.

  “No,” she breathes. The back of her knees hit the bed. “Not here.”

  “Where do you want it, baby?”

  Instead of speaking, she grabs my hand and drags me out of the bedroom, through the hall and down the stairway. I’m nearly tripping to keep up with her, but I manage. I can still taste her tongue. My lips are still on fire.

  “Does she play?” she asks, when we reach the end of the stairwell. She points to the grand piano in the corner of the great room, positioned next to the large picture windows that frame the room.

  “My wife? Yes. She loves to play. Why?”

  Elise releases my hand and saunters over to the piano, skimming her fingers over the keys. Then she slowly turns to face me, hopping up to sit on them. The keys cry out as her weight touches down, filling the room with an eerie chorus. I step toward her, eyes blazing. Just when I think she can’t get any bolder, she leans back, resting on her elbows, and lets her legs fall open, revealing a sliver of red lace.

  “Here,” she says, crooking a finger at me. “You’re going to fuck me right here.”

  My gaze falls on the wall of photographs behind her, each one showcasing me and Kylie in various, loving positions. There’s one of us at last year’s Christmas ball, and one of us holding our ski gear, looking blissfully happy. My eyes don’t stray for long, though. There’s a tempting, wicked goddess sitting here, waiting for me to show her my skills, and I am one hundred percent up for that challenge.

  I move like lightning, quick and sharp, but I don’t rush things when I align myself between her legs. I take my time, trailing my fingers along her knee, skating up along the inside of her thigh. Her skin is hot. So fucking hot I think it’s on fire, just like my lips. My hand travels down her calf, over her black stockings, which match her black, lacy dress. She watches me, shifting to remove Kylie’s heels.

  “No.” My voice is gruff. Commanding. Now that she’s in my house, in my hands, and at my mercy, my nerve is returning. I’m getting my shit together. This is good, because I have things to show her. So, so many things. Things that will make her writhe as she comes. I don’t care what the others have done to her before me. It means shit compared to what I’m about to give her. My hand snatches hers, stopping her from removing the silver stilettos. “Leave them.”

  A little flare brightens her irises. She looks at me with a doe-eyed stare, seeming to suddenly register that I’m a man who likes control. Her hand recoils and she sits back, waiting. That single response does something to me. An internal, carnal cord snaps, and my forearm is suddenly lunging forward to grasp the back of her neck. I tug at the roots of her smooth, silky hair and she whimpers, letting me tilt her head back. I take an easy, slow step forward, wedging myself tighter between her thighs.

  “You,” I say, low and stern, “are mine now, Elise Duchamp.” I lean in and bring my mouth to her throat. “Claimed.” My teeth graze up the slope of her neck, carving a path to her ear. “Do you understand, baby?” She nods, and another whimper leaves her lips, breathy and hot, floating into the silence around us. I smile mischievously, pulling back to look at her dead on. “Good.”

  As quickly as I gravitated to the inside of her thighs, I wrench at her hair and waist simultaneously, yanking her down from the piano and onto her feet, twisting her around so her back is flush with my chest. Her heels smack the wood floor; she scrambles to maintain balance. The hard ridge of my cock presses into her back and I pull her closer. She gasps as my hand slides up the front of her throat, tilting her chin up, forcing her head to roll onto my shoulder.

  “Now do as I say, Elise, and you’ll come so hard you won’t ever want another man to fuck you. Only me.” I keep a tight grip on her throat and chin as I slide her dress up, exposing her red, lacy thong. The sight sends me soaring, so high I know I’ll never be able to come down. The bright red is as bold as she is. It’s my new favorite color. I never want to see her in anything else. This is Elise. My Elise. I told her she’s mine, but she doesn’t believe me.

  Not yet.

  “For starters, always wear red.” I reach down and rip her panties, tugging them to the side. The lace slides over her soft skin, tattered and torn. “With me, it’s always red.”

  She’s breathing heavily, her throat muscles clenching against my palm. “What makes you so sure this is going to happen again?”

  “I know it will.” I chuck the red lace to the floor and return my hand to her round, perfect ass, giving it a good squeeze. “When I’m done with you, you’ll know it, too.” I dig in my pocket for a condom, tearing at it with my teeth. I roll it on the minute my cock is free. I don’t bother undressing, just unzip my pants and slide against her slick wetness.

  Guiding her forward, I carefully push her face down, sending her hands flying to the top of the piano. She grips at the slippery, shiny ledge, the pads of her fingers leaving moist prints on the black paint. I haven’t had a chance to get a good handful of her tits yet, but I will. Right now, my cock is focused on sliding home, nailing her so hard to this instrument that it leaves an imprint of her body on the damn thing.

  As soon as I’m satisfied with my position against her pussy, I allow a free hand to roam north, while the other holds her in place. My fingers make contact with those perky, round tits. I grope and slap them, tugging harder when she moans. Her cheek is smashed against the piano. I tilt slightly to get a good look at her as I slam into her, watching those dark lashes flutter as she accepts the pleasure. This is better than I imagined. A million fucking times better.

  I pound into her hard and fast, unable to pry my eyes from her face. That emptiness in her sultry gaze has completely vanished. She’s wholly present, consumed by pleasure, almost unrecognizable. She bites her lip, a flash of white teeth sparkling against her rosy p
ink lips, and her eyes are hazy, drifting off into some otherworldly place. It’s a dangerous expression, completely capable of spawning a new addiction.

  I’m already fucking hooked.

  The look spurs me on, urging me to ram into her harder, with more friction. My gaze drops to her sweet, firm ass, watching her flesh bounce against mine. If I wasn’t so hell bent on staying inside of her, I’d be on my knees in a flat second so I could take a good bite.

  “The dress,” she moans, frustrated, wiggling beneath me.

  I stagger back to give her some breathing room, keeping my cock buried deep inside of her. We scramble to slip the dress over her head, and my dick throbs painfully when we cast it aside, revealing the delicate flare of her hips and those full, luscious breasts. She takes advantage of the change in position and reaches behind, arching her back as she grabs hold of my chin to kiss me. I give her what she wants, closing my eyes to savor her taste.

  My mind shifts and spins, wondering where she’s been all my life. She’s the perfect angel for me—just as dirty, just as daring. I didn’t know this could exist.

  A sharp pang of guilt shoots through me.

  I don’t want to feel guilty. I shouldn’t feel guilty. Kylie and I have been disconnected for months now. Everything’s been forced. Empty, just like Elise’s eyes at the diner. All that remains, all that bonds us together is a piece of paper. Somewhere along the way, our light faded out. Looking back, I’m not sure there was much to begin with. We married young, enjoyed some truly happy moments, but those moments were elusive and they never lasted very long.

  Still, I could never bring myself to end it. Neither could Kylie. We were both so in love with the idea of being in love that the illusion blinded us. That was my theory, anyway. Now that I feel this—a spark I have never felt before with any woman, not even my wife—I don’t know how I’ll ever go back. How I’ll ever be the same man.

  “Christian,” Elise breathes impatiently, calling me back to her, “come on, I need it.”

  My hands close around her wrists and I push her back over the piano, face down, her back to my chest. A little yelp shuttles through her, and I catch a glimpse of those pretty white teeth as she smiles. I hover over her, pumping in and out, slowly, then with sharp, steady jolts, teasing her with every inch.

  “This?” My fingers slide around her navel and move south to work her pussy. “Is this what you need, baby?”

  “Don’t play around, Christian. Just fucking give it to me.” She practically growls, and the sound reverberates deeply, coaxing a crazy grin on my ridiculously elated face.

  “I set the pace. You come when I say you come.”

  She squirms, pressing her ass harder against me, desperate for the pressure. I watch her wiggle around but don’t forget the task at hand, continuing to deliver sweet, painful thrusts.

  “You can’t be serious,” she seethes, gritting her teeth.

  I smack the back of her thigh, just above the curve of her ass, and it gets her attention. Her eyes fly wide beneath the halo of blonde hair that covers her face like a curtain. “If I’m inside of you, I’m serious. Don’t come. I’m not done with you yet.”

  She groans in frustration, and I can feel her muscles clench around my cock, stiffening with each thrust. Her palms smack the top of the piano and she pushes up, slipping out from underneath me, breaking all contact. I slide out of her and my dick protests immediately.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I bark, reaching for her. She swats my hand away and shoves me backward, pushing me onto the piano bench. The backs of my heels hit the bench and I stumble to a sitting position. She climbs onto my lap and steadies herself, gripping the tops of my shoulders. Her hands delve beneath my crisp, white shirt. A button pops off, exposing the top of my chest.

  “I told you not to play around.” She rises and slams down onto my cock. Her head rolls to the side as she begins to ride me. Her pace is furious, her cries so delicious, I have to taste them for myself. I tilt my head up and capture her mouth, shifting to grip her waist and pump her up and down. She’s all over me, draping me in warmth, covering every inch of me so I’m completely smothered. The oxygen deprivation feels incredible.

  I give her a few seconds to have her way with me, but I don’t let her ride me for long. I’m in charge here, and she needs a firm understanding of this. This first fuck means everything. It cements the dynamic. From now on, every time I touch her, she needs to know I run the show. It’s what she’ll come to me for, over and over again. The power, the submission, the control. Always reliable, always satisfying.

  I catch her off guard, rising swiftly from the piano bench, spinning us around so that I’m carrying her, walking her backward. We hit the wall next to the piano, and it knocks the wind from her lungs, a sharp breath punching from her chest with the contact. I lift her arms and pin her wrists above her head, then get a good grip on her thighs, readjusting her at my waist.

  “Your hands belong here,” I growl, pressing my forehead into hers, forcing our gazes to meet so she knows, contrary to what she might have thought a few minutes ago, that I am indeed not playing around. “Don’t fight it. You’ll try, because you love the challenge. But don’t think you’ll win. It’s not going to happen, baby. I own this.” I dip my cock deep into her soaking wet pussy, pushing high and deep. “And it’s exactly what you want.”

  Elise’s head tilts all the way back, pushing as far against the wall as possible. She peers down at me, her jaw tight, eyes oozing with lust and excitement. The corner of her lips tilt with a coy smile. “What took me so long to fuck you?”

  “I could ask myself the same question.” I roll my hips with another thrust, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. “But I’d prefer to make up for lost time.” My teeth find her bottom lip and give it a sharp tug. I don’t let her get too used to the sensation or the position I’ve put her in, though. Because as much as I love seeing her pinned up against the wall like this, I want to carry her right back to that piano and reclaim my power.

  Lowering her so her feet hit the floor, I twist her around at the hip, keeping her chin propped over her shoulder so she can see every single touch, see the untamed glint in my eyes as I direct her body. I nip her shoulder, then drop to my knees to sink my teeth into the curve of her ass. She’s so wet, the flood between her thighs has spread along the round swell, making my mouth water.

  I rise and grip the nape of her neck, tugging her back to my front, pulling her away from the wall. She shrieks in pleasure and lets me guide her back to the piano. We trip over the edge of the area rug and smash into the console table near the window. The clear vase that holds Kylie’s pink roses—the ones I just bought her for our anniversary three days ago—tumbles to the ground and shatters, sending water and flowers around our feet. We trample over them and I slam her against the edge of the piano, bending her over to hammer into her from behind.

  My hips set a feverish pace as I pound away, sending us both shouting into the house’s silence, cracking it in half.

  “Who owns this?” I grind out against her ear, burying the words into her hair as the rocking of my hips comes to a slow.

  “You do,” she pants, moving south to cover my hand, which is clasped firmly over her pussy.

  “Who?” I lean forward, resting all my weight against her back, so her stomach flattens against the side of the piano. Her head is being pushed farther down, her cheek smashing against the cool top. She comes so loudly, the echo fills the entire great room, spilling out into the front corridor. I wouldn’t be surprised if it set the neighbor’s car alarm off.

  “You do, Christian.”

  I brush her clit with my thumb and deliver one last slow, torturous thrust before I collapse on top of her. We pant against one another, wet flesh sticking to wet flesh. My arms glide and align with hers, splaying out and up, over her head. I stroke the tops of her fingers and lightly blow on the back of her neck. I’m relaxed and high as a fucking kite, but Elise is quick to move o
ut from underneath me the moment she catches her breath.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Need my purse.” She strides across the great room, stark naked, completely oblivious to who might catch a glimpse through the windows. She heads for the staircase. When she reaches the bottom, she stops to turn and face me, and her expression sends me still. I just stand there like a stone, gaze fixated on her full, pouty lips. Her face is blank. Empty, just like it’s been so many times before, as if she’s seeing right through me. Just as if she’s looking straight through her customers at the diner, like she’s traveled to some far-away place. “You coming?”

  “Back upstairs?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” Without a second glance or that flirty smirk of hers, she starts back up the stairs, and I follow, like the hopeless, addicted bastard I am.

  THREE

  Elise tugs gently at Kylie’s bathrobe, pulling it from the hanger to slide it over her creamy skin. She glides through the bedroom toward the French doors that lead to the balcony, and I’m still following, cautiously, curiously, and completely awestruck by the ethereal, filthy angel taking the lead in my home. She collects her purse and opens the balcony doors as if she owns them.

  “My wife will be home tonight¸” I say, nervously eyeing the balcony.

  “Nothing out here right now but trees.” She settles into one of the patio chairs and opens her purse, pulling out a little coin wallet. She retrieves some white papers and places them on her knee. She begins to fill and roll them, and I stand there in the doorway, stunned.

  “You can’t smoke that in the house. Kylie will have a fit.”

  She doesn’t look up, just keeps working. “Relax. I’m not in the house.”

  “Elise.” I step out onto the balcony and sit across from her, leaning forward on my knees. She still doesn’t look up.

  “How old are you, Christian?”

  “Thirty, why?”