Endgame

by Mia Downing

  Suddenly, she liked that he was verbose. No one had ever said she was breathtaking. Not her boys. Not…John. Not that she could remember. Ever. She swallowed a lump in her throat and fought something. Not tears. She wasn’t weak. Something else.

  He disturbed her mental struggle by sucking on her big toe, the pull echoing deep in her core. She jumped.

  “Be still, or I’ll find a way to bind your legs, too,” he said. “I’ll just tie you down like a Christmas goose. I’ve already got you basted like one.” He kissed her other toes, her instep, her ankle. He paused—lotion squirted—and he ran his hands up her calves, her thighs, his fingers stopping just breath from her needy pussy.

  He spread her legs and settled between them, raising her knees just a little, then sliding his hands to cup her ass. “I did more research, you know.”

  “Do I dare ask on what?” She trembled as he blew a hot breath across her clit.

  “South Pole techniques. I’m an amateur explorer. I needed survival tips.” And he dove in, running his tongue the length of her outer lip, then down the other. “They say to wait to stimulate the clit. I should do other parts, first.” His oily fingers slid along the outer lips, then toyed with the inner ones, spreading them in his thumbs. His tongue swirled there, then dipped down to stab into her core.

  “They also gave tips to see if there are upcoming fireworks. Your color will change, here, to be darker pink,” he fingered her inner lips again, “and your clit will grow longer and harder.” He slipped a slick finger inside her pussy. “And things will quiver here, and clench. Like it is now.”

  He fastened his mouth on her clit then, sucking gently. A second finger joined the first, and he thrust in, then pushed up into that spongy pad of nerves. She tried to arch off the bed, against his mouth and fingers, but he held her down. With one hand, he tucked each foot under his chest so she was wide open, but her feet weren’t going anywhere, either.

  Then he began exploring again, his mouth nipping, biting, languishing. He bit down gently on her clit and afterward asked, “I researched clamps. Is that something Ma’am enjoys?”

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said on a moan. Clamps on her nipples and clit…yes. Her orgasm built at the image of her sensitive bits clamped, his hard cock pounding her cunt—

  “What else does Ma’am like?”

  “Right now?” she panted. “Aaron, I’m ready to come. Please shut up.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said on a laugh and continued his assault on her pussy. “I already know you like this.” His slick thumb eased into her ass. He pumped once, twice as he sucked her clit and thrust his fingers inside her ass and pussy. Sinful. She lashed her head from side to side, unable to stand the sweet torture, never wanting it to stop.

  He lifted his head. “Come for me, baby.”

  She moaned and came. The fireworks erupted in a flash of neon red and green, blues, and purples behind her blindfold. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, milking them, wishing for harder and more. As if he knew this he shoved everything in deeper, his fingers further into her slick channel, his thumb all the way into her tight ass. The contractions increased and she moaned. She tried to thrash, but he pressed her harder into the bed.

  Then he withdrew all contact, leaving her. She groaned in frustration, needing more. His legs brushed between her thighs, his hands on both sides of her shoulders. He lowered his hips to hers. There was a moment of fumbling as the head of his cock slid the length of her slit. The bed shifted, and one large hand wedged between them. And then he thrust.

  “Oh,” Charlotte breathed, not expecting the note of burning pain as her pussy stretched to accommodate his thick cock. She grabbed the railings in his headboard harder. “Easy, Aaron.”

  “Sorry, baby.” He stilled, quaking above her, the level of his restraint tenuous at best. He gave a small experimental thrust, then another, his shaft inching deeper. The burn changed to something sweet. More of an ache and then she didn’t want him to be gentle any longer.

  “Harder,” she urged.

  He groaned and stroked in deep, grinding at the end of each pump so her clit got friction. She wrapped one leg around his hips and arched, showing him the tempo and angle she needed. The sensations in her belly swirled like they did before, only more intensely. Each thrust drove him deeper, drove her orgasm closer to the fuse that lit the grand finale rack of fireworks.

  Her skin tingled as he bent, his chest brushing against hers. His fingers took hers down from the slats, and he held her hands, one on each side of her head, still pinning her, the contact divine, intimate. He kissed her, one that was all tongue and lips, one that made her burn for more. Then his mouth traveled along her jaw, his tongue in her ear, sucking her lobe.

  “Come for me,” he whispered. “Come again, around my cock.”

  Could she? He dipped his head and took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. She arched higher, harder, and the fuse lit deep inside her. Higher, brighter the fuse burned, though her blood, down her spine until she finally exploded around his shaft.

  “Oh,” she moaned, her insides quaking as he fucked her harder, faster.

  “I have to see your eyes as I come,” he said and yanked the blindfold off. He stared deep into her eyes, owning her soul as he came deep inside her, his fluid shooting hot along the back wall of her pussy.

  She froze as the wetness continued, the friction decreasing with each pump of his hips. Oh, God, no. He finished and collapsed his weight on her, panting as if he’d run a marathon. He wrapped those strong arms around her and held her frozen body close.

  She fought her own ragged breathing to ask, “Aaron? Did you forget to use a condom?”

  “What?” Now, it was his turn to stiffen. “Shit. I’m sorry. Please tell me you won’t get pregnant.”

  No, she wouldn’t. Ever again. She fought the moan of despair. “Did you use one with Celia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just…we can’t do this again. Ever. I’m sorry.”

  “Was I that bad? I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

  “You were fine.” But she wasn’t, not one bit. Not when her past danced in front of her, skeletons that wouldn’t leave. No more babies. And she should be sad that there’d be no more John, but a part of her, the traitorous, whoring part, realized something.

  Sex with Aaron was better than sex with her husband.

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes, centering her breathing. Traitorous whore, she was, a dirty whoring bit of fluff to enjoy Aaron’s third attempt at lovemaking more than John’s. But then, did John ever make love to her? He fucked her, often. He’d never talked of giving her pleasure, only taking, taking her pain, taking her pleasure for himself.

  “Baby, I’m sorry.” He kissed her neck. “Jake told me not to fuck this up. I’m sorry, but that’s no reason to stop doing something this good. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  “Jake?” She dug her fingers into his hips.

  “Oh, shit.” Aaron stiffened over her. “Charlotte—”

  “Get off,” she hissed. “What did Jake say to you?”

  He rolled off and onto his back. She scrambled off the bed as he held his hands up in defense. “Nothing, honest. Just you were special, not to fuck this up, to use lube in the condom.”

  “Special? How.” Where the fuck was the robe?

  “Just…special. He wasn’t talking about your submissive issues. Just that you were special, long before you had baggage. And you are.”

  “Submissive issues?” She snatched up his pajama bottoms and held them in front of her, feeling so small and embarrassed. “The only issue I have is anger-related, and right now, that stems from you being disobedient. You eavesdropped, didn’t you?”

  He sighed, apologetic. “Yes.”

  “You sure Jake didn’t give you a few sex camp lessons? Act like this, say this, do this, and she’ll roll over and spread her legs for you?”

  “No!”

  “And to think I was upset because I thought—” S
he couldn’t even look at him. “No one has ever called me breathtaking before. Not even my husband. No one ever worshiped me like you did. But you knew what buttons to push, thanks to Jake. You won’t be obedient for me, but you’ll do what you’re told to get sex, won’t you.”

  “Char, no.”

  “And then you have to forget the fucking condom and remind me—” No, not an admission she wanted to share. Now with him. “Fuck you, Aaron.” She turned and walked out, slamming the door.

  She went to the bathroom and scrubbed his scent and essence from her body, feeling numb and worthless. It lingered, though, cloying, arousing, intoxicating. She needed a different scent, one not so Aaron.

  She stormed back to Jake’s room, pulled the T-shirt that smelled like Chase and from her bag. She yanked it on and inhaled, then tugged on panties and shorts. She felt like a whore. Something cheap and weak, mourning a baby she couldn’t have. A husband who maybe wasn’t as good to her as she thought.

  If she thought back, she remembered the looks Chase and Jake would share when she’d get going about John’s virtues, after she could talk again. She had thought they were jaded men. But now she wondered, because she knew her memories were dim around doomsday. Jake and Chase were both skilled at being Top. They knew how the scene worked. So maybe they knew more than they had let on.

  But maybe…maybe Abigail didn’t have it quite so good. She’d thought she liked what John offered—he was into humiliation, punishment. He would have done more with pain, but a lot of those were hard limits for her. That she remembered.

  She also remembered getting off by his little slut, his whore, denied orgasms because she’d forgotten to forgo panties, had waken too late to service him with the daily blowjob. Or had she gotten off? She vaguely remembered times not being so aroused, so excited as she knelt at his feet or wore his toys to work.

  The memories confused her some, because she remembered when she first met John very clearly. She liked the toys in the beginning, loved being his slut, ready for him. But something changed. She now remembered something about the way he had looked at her, touched her later, a colder, more calculating look. Maybe it was her guilt, for being an informant on her boss. Whatever it was, she remembered now that things weren’t right.

  She climbed into Jake’s bed, curling into a ball with the hem of Chase’s soothing T-shirt stuffed under her nose. If it wasn’t so late at home, she’d call Chase and ask. He’d tell her the truth, wouldn’t he? But then she’d have to spill about Aaron and he’d put her on a plane. And Jake was on Aaron’s side, the ass.

  So instead, she sniffed the soothing T-shirt, closed her eyes, and fought the tears. She couldn’t cry, because dragons didn’t cry. Weak and submissive cried. But the sobs tore through her, one after another, and she bit the cloth to keep the sounds in.

  The door opened, and she tensed, curling into a tighter ball. Jake was home.

  “Shh. Darlin’, I’m sorry. Come here,” he soothed in that drawl of his.

  “Jake,” she sobbed. She’d never cried for him before. How fitting she’d cry now.

  He pulled her to his chest—his bare, smooth chest that smelled clean and spicy. Aaron. She sobbed harder. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

  Aaron closed his eyes and held Charlotte tighter, ignoring the tiny balled hands that smacked his ribs. He deserved it. Every punch, because they were less painful than the tears she now shed.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Please, let me make this better,” Aaron said, his voice hoarse, full of the Texas twang he couldn’t hide at this moment. Seeing her like this… He’d done this to her, his Danger Girl. He’d broken her into this sweet, sobbing mess of woman. It killed him.

  “I’m so sorry.” He gathered her in his arms and carried her back to his bedroom.

  Jake appeared at the end hallway, looking ready to murder when he saw the weeping Charlotte in Aaron’s arms. Jake stepped forward, arms out, and Aaron shook his head and held her closer.

  Aaron mouthed, “No,” and shook his head again. This was his mess, and if she turned her head and saw Jake, she’d choose him instead.

  Jake raised his brows and made a motion with his hands—give her to me.

  Aaron shook his head at his brother, warning him away. This was his mess. Jake glanced down at her, then back at him, his jaw set in that way that said he was bringing the battle.

  Aaron narrowed his gaze, setting his own jaw. His mess. Finally, Jake sighed and backed a step, giving Aaron access to his bedroom. He gestured that he’d be in his room, just in case.

  Aaron carried her in, shut the door with his foot, and folded her into his bed. She shuddered but clung to his shoulders, her nails digging in. He winced as he climbed in next to her, tugging her close. He used the corner of the sheet to wipe her face, her nose, vowing to wash them the next day anyway. Then he held her.

  After a while, the shuddering stopped and her nails receded from his skin. He cautiously glanced down. She had fallen asleep, her dark lashes brushing stained cheeks, her nose red, her mouth open. Little gaps for air came now and then, as if she still had more to cry out, even in her sleep.

  He’d never seen anything so sadly beautiful before in his entire life.

  He closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he prayed for something other than a solution to his shitty life. He prayed for Charlotte, to help her find a way to ease her pain, to make her baggage less.

  She didn’t believe in God, and half of the time now, he had his doubts. But he didn’t think his God was cruel. Yeah, bad stuff happened, but God was in every inch of the aftermath, helping people sort out their lives, visible in the good deeds others did to help. God had sent her Chase and Jake to help her, to be her family.

  Aaron sat up.

  Maybe…maybe God had sent her to him. He prayed because his life was shit, had no meaning, had no destiny except lying to millions of people on screen about something he wasn’t. And here she was, needing something—someone—to make her live again.

  Jake had told her that’s what she needed. She’d said he made her feel things she never felt, even with her husband, which was powerful stuff. He felt the change in her, too. In his arms, she was all woman, not a secret agent with anger management issues.

  Maybe his destiny was to get over being a punk and see to Charlotte’s happiness. Bedding her probably wasn’t a part of divine intervention. But if he got her to live a little while she was here, and she got him to stop being a punk…maybe that would be the best thing for both of them.

  He watched her sleep. The little gasps had stopped, but she clutched her shirt with a death grip, as if afraid he’d steal it. He had done this to her somehow, and he would find a way to fix it. The problem was, she deserved to kill him.

  So how did he fix this, and not die?

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte never drifted awake, but for some reason, this is what her body demanded she do. Not jump to her feet, ready to kill, but float to the surface of some warm, really pleasurable pond. Or something else that was hot and wet, like the sensations down below her waist.

  She opened an eye, then two. Aaron peeked up at her from between her thighs, his mouth fastened to her clit. She started to smile—so naughty of him—and drift back off, lifting her hands to sink into his hair—

  Why wouldn’t her hands move? She tugged, and they stayed secured above her head. She opened her mouth to demand answers and realized the fucking punk had bound and gagged her.

  “Hey, baby,” the fucking punk greeted from between her legs, his mouth done with its ministrations. He slipped two fingers inside her pussy and angled himself over her hips. “I’m sorry. I had to tie you up so you wouldn’t kill me before I got to say my piece. And if you screamed bloody murder at me, Jake would come to the rescue and kick my ass, and then leave me so you could kill me. The odds weren’t good.”

  She shot him her most deadly glare. Smart man, realizing the odds were not in his favor. In a rush, everything from the night before
came back—the incredible sex, the humiliation, the sadness, the grief. She’d cried in his arms, damn it, and this is how he woke her? Bound and gagged, with his fingers in her pussy?

  She was cold, hard, and mean and threatened his life regularly. Maybe he had something.

  “I couldn’t figure out how to tie down your legs, so I’ll just lie here for a bit and occupy the South Pole while I talk to you. I figure if I get you close to orgasm, you’ll be less likely to kill me, too. I don’t think you can kill me with your feet, but I’m probably wrong.”

  So wrong, but his fingers were stroking just the way she liked, thrusting deep, his other hand doing hard circles on her clit. The orgasm was already in the backseat, waiting for the right moment to spring.

  He glanced up to say, “I told the truth. All Jake said was to treat you right, not to fuck up, you were special and to use lube in the condom. That’s it. I admit I was disobedient for listening. But listening has gained me a lot of knowledge about you. I can’t ask Jake, you won’t talk, and I… I want to please you. I do.”

  He returned to her stomach, lapping his tongue out and around her navel, delving in the creases made by her scars. The old bullet wound on her right side, the old knife slash on the left, the myriad other scars here and there. So erotic to have his tongue bathe them. Her mouth went dry, the moisture stolen by her soaked pussy, his fingers still deep inside, exploring.

  He lifted his head and propped himself on an elbow, the other hand playing with her clit. “Jake said you’re submissive, but I don’t think so, not anymore. I think you’ve become a switch, and maybe that’s what I am, too. We get off on both sides of the power until it shifts, and it’s good, Char. Really good. When you threaten to kill me, my libido goes wild. Stupid, I know. Crazy, because I have you tied up and the thought of you escaping and killing me makes me harder than steel.”