by Judy Jarvie
“God, you drive me wild. I don’t want you either—I’m trying to resist here.”
“Ya think?” He’s smiling, but his moves are claiming.
He tweaks my nipples. His hand roves to my pussy through jeans, and I’m grinding into it like a wanton strumpet in heat.
He’s unbuttoning my T-shirt top and manhandling my breasts while I’m on him, wanting to ride his stallion any old time he cares to open that stable door.
“What’s with us, Dan?”
“Who fucking cares. Just get it on.”
My pussy is ripe for him, my breasts alive with a need for more attention. His hands and mouth are on me. Fortunately, I don’t have to wait, as he already claims me without waiting to request permission, unzipping my jeans and getting inside like a ninja briefed him for the job. Maybe that’s because I’m kissing him back in a carnal way that’s a first for me. I almost can’t get over it.
With Slash it was all yes Sir, no Sir. Submissive lover who knew her place. Told where to sit and what to say. I’d quite enjoyed that for a time until it became a ‘thrills for him’ tick list.
But this is so very different—has Dan unleashed my lady-beast?
Then, swiftly, he pulls back and lays the covers aside.
“I got this for us. You like?”
“Wow. Talk about premeditated. I should tell your officers to take a statement. Where did you get them?”
“I have my sources.”
My eyes widen. Desire is still thrumming in my veins, and this time they’re championed by excitement and yearning. Woo—what a party. It’s like a small showcase from the cops’ Argos catalogue in kink.
“Call me Sir?” he whispers. “Your only Sir.”
He clicks on the cuffs. They’re big and bulky. They even gleam in the light.
No modern fancy tech kind of cuff these. We’re talking FBI vintage for serious offenders. I kinda like this retro raunchy edge. Weighty, proper steel cuffs especially for me. With real keys that will probably scrape in the lock.
“Giving me toys now?”
“The best kind, sugar.”
It’s every submissive kink craver’s dream. Two pairs. A matching set. There’s even coiled rope as an extra side to go. Black, plastic-coated rope that’ll tie anything up tight as tight.
I avert my eyes. My previous Sir liked me submissive, quiet, doting—eyes to floor was his preference. I guess the habit’s stuck—even if the man didn’t.
“Look at me now,” Sir orders. “Don’t dare to divert your eyes.”
And I obey. We lock gazes when the cuffs click sharply shut, and they feel heavy, cold, and they’re already making me horny. I know they’re going to hurt like hell, with a bite like a bitch in less than five minutes, but I don’t care. Because I won’t mind, in fact I’ll crave it.
“Please, Sir, do your worst. I must be punished.”
Dan takes out a black blindfold. “I’m not going to punish you, Agent K. I’m giving you what you most deserve. Putting you through your paces because in this we’re on the same side of the kink line.”
Fuck. I think I’m going to come. Before he’s even touched me.
He smiles. Like he’s just read my mind.
“Count on it. Count and don’t miss a single beat.” Dan leans over and seizes a coil of rope. My insides jiggle at the sight, especially when he binds it slowly around one ankle and then the bed. He grunts softly as he does the same to my other leg. He then pulls the rope tighter yet before he slides the blindfold over my eyes. All is blackness and I’m bound to the metal bed end, face down. The sound of his breathing is suddenly very loud and I’m gulping air, unsure if excitement or acute angst makes me do so. This is new, Slash liked it with my back to the bed or on my knees. But this is Sir’s private pleasure preference.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Would it matter?”
“Everything about this matters. You matter,” he states.
“A civilian in your charge. You’d so get the sack.”
“I’d rather have you in the sack.”
“Fired. You could be fired.”
His tone is liquid caramel. “The only thing I want to fire—is you.”
The cuffs have me tight to the steel headboard. Then something ice cold—holy shit—journeys slowly up my body from my inner ankle to my pussy. I yelp, I can’t help it. It’s hard, but like ice.
“What?”
No answer. Just the light cold, pressure of some thin implement that’s tracing tantalizing paths of destruction across my skin. It teases me and has me under its crazy spell—like he’s trailing a giant icicle and I spasm in response, cuffs clanking already and we’ve barely begun.
“What is it, Dan?”
“Sir!” he barks. “You forget my rank.” He sounds shit hard but I can hear the smile behind the words.
“My master,” I whimper.
“Oh yeah. That I like. Nice job, Agent.”
Yus! I’m an agent now.
“Agent Provocateur!” I whisper.
His agent of passion. I giggle. It starts so suddenly and leaps out as I’m unable to keep that thought on ‘neutral’ but he silences me swiftly. He kisses my arse so fiercely and thoroughly I can’t help laughing. My giggles soon become rapture gasps, because he gently starts to nip and bite me on the backside. All the time something is moving against my clit.
I groan and quake. What the hell is this?
I’ve no idea. It’s too cold to be him, and the effect multiplies the intensity.
I’m coming, straining at the cuffs. Already panting hard and squirming with the ecstasy he’s so quickly incited. Wow. But it stops as soon as it started leaving me hanging—my rollercoaster dip has a tease pause in the program. I’m flailing a mile high and dangling with desire.
“You will wait until you have my permission,” he growls.
Then the bites get harder. My buttocks will be in no shape for sitting around later. But they’ll probably be a great psychedelic shade of scarlet and scorch.
“Nice work, Sir!” I moan. “You hungry there? My buns on a bap to your liking?”
Without warning he slaps my arse fully hard with his hand.
I squeal out. Half in pique and half in shock, with a tad of ‘holy hell this is hot’ for good measure. Slash was never a spanker—this Sir is proving to be my biggest surprise. The implement from before—I’m thinking it’s some kind of crop—is now being lashed over my backside.
Again, again and again on steady rhythm.
“Too damn right, Agent. Shut your damn mouth or I’ll eat you alive. How do you like your punishment for daring to keep Ivan’s misdeeds from me?”
Wow. Now this is a head spin.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Not a bit of it.”
The lashes get faster. My cuffs jangle and I feel the rope my ankles are bound with chafe my skin as I writhe to escape his torturous touch.
Then it stops.
“I think that’s enough punishment for now.”
“Thanks for small mercies, Sir.”
Wow, but my heart is pounding, and the thrills that are running through me right now I can’t even hope to describe. It’s like a champagne cocktail, mixed with the euphoria of a recent rollercoaster vertical rush.
“You ready for the next stage?” he whispers by my ear.
I nod. If I talk I might just lose it. Coming with absolutely no incitement other than horse-play, banter and restraints is a cardinal sin I will not commit.
And the cherry on the sundae is his ‘Interpol Sir’ guise at full throttle on me in the bedroom, and I find I love it. His coercion tactics have me at his mercy. I’m like a tired toddler being nap-prepped by a pro nanny. Only sleeping is the last thing on my Sir’s mind.
He still hasn’t told me what implement he’s using. Seconds later I’ve a clue when it thwacks across my buttocks deliciously hard yet again.
“Is that a crop?”
“Well done, little one.
This one’s made of steel.”
The action makes it hard for me to swallow. Hard. Like the thing in his combat pants that touches my thigh from time to time, when he bends over me to stroke my arse and back to soothe me. I’m hoping it’ll soon come out to play too, because I’m greedy that way.
“You’re aroused,” I whisper.
“You caused it.”
“I wanted to tell you the bets are off too…”
“I beg to differ… Maybe we’re not in control for once?”
“You don’t understand. It has to be the worst mistake ever—you and me.” He presses his hand on my buttocks in a series of deep pressure moves. Movement and breathing aren’t doable. Instead I blink.
“You don’t care?” he whispers. “And what I want goes. Right now I want to take you from behind.”
From the sounds I’m craning to hear he’s pulling off his black ops vest and pants. The waiting almost makes me whimper.
“What I have for you is long, rigid, fully loaded and about to detonate. But first I need your safeword. What do you choose?”
I lick my lips. His dick against my thigh is telling me in uncertain terms that he’s feeling very recovered.
My voice sounds tight to my own ears. “Jericho.”
He pauses and I feel him swirl his fingers over my naked back and buttocks. “The lengths I’ve gone to, to find us a stash of condoms,” he whispers, before kissing the back of my neck so delightfully I swear I could fly.
I find I’m keening for release. I want to touch him and kiss him and savor myself. All this keeping me in place is making me antsy.
Dan’s hands claim my hips to tilt them, and I feel something soft slide beneath my belly. It must be a pillow.
But the familiarity of the position makes me freeze. All the horny, vibed stuff skitters away leaving behind a chilled, stark fear.
Fuck. Seb used to do this—he used to cause me physical pain. For all his vanilla ways, he was the only guy who figured sex to the point of painful was just part of the game. Ironic that my other partner was a BDSM freak but never ever ‘hurt me’ in the way my ‘safe-tastes’ boyfriend did.
A memory of the time he bruised and left me raw inside catches me so sharply I almost have a panic attack.
“Jericho,” I stammer.
“What?” Unlike Seb, who didn’t do empathy or care in the bedroom, I trust that he will stop at my safeword. “You okay?”
No. Not okay.
Not with that.
For all my bravado and erotic enigma branding, when it comes to this kind of doggy style that once left me crying and shaking I’m all at sea. I’ve never done this since Seb. Because he hurt me. Every time. But that didn’t stop him.
“I can’t,” I say and I know I’m so close to crying it’s inevitable. I bet Sir’s never had car crash sex like this is turning into.
“You’re shaking. What’s happened, what’s wrong?”
I thought I was over it.
Turns out I wasn’t. Turns out my tattoo’s boasts are half fake. Because I’m not as game as I’d figured—when the wounds of my past are laid bare.
Talk about spoiling the moment. Just when I was about to have the best sex of my life.
“What happened, Katie?” he asks me. Already I can feel the cuffs and ropes being removed. When my hands are free I take off the blindfold myself, but I can’t meet his gaze.
“You probably think I’m a ‘been there, done it all’ girl—the tattoo. I’m not. Slash had me under a spell—he liked domination but in a cosplay and toys way. Kink for turn-on over pain. Seb, on the other hand—he hurt me without it even being part of the game. I’ve never done that position with anyone else since. I guess my brain is wired to reject it.”
“He hurt you—the one you were engaged to?”
“He liked his own way and he got rough. He was enthusiastic, sometimes to the point of ouch. Especially when he’d had a drink. It’s given me an aversion.”
Dan palms his hair. “I’m so sorry. But what I don’t understand is why you’d settle for that?”
“Oh for God’s sake, don’t get like this. It’s me who’s ruined things. Mea culpa—let’s leave the inquisition there.”
“You haven’t ruined anything. But I promise, I would never have hurt you. Never could, never will. When you voice your safe word then I stop. No question.”
Dan kisses me. Gently, with exquisite care and tenderness. He exposes my neck, taking time to smooth away my hair, and gently kisses my neck—soft as silk but twice as sinful and so moreish I can’t help but let my mouth open yearning for his kiss there instead. I turn then revel in feeling him enter and explore my mouth with his tongue and I gasp with the enticing delight of him.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. Especially me.”
“You haven’t hurt me.”
“I could have. I never want to do that.”
He is heady as a potent cocktail with a pure hit of thrilling chili kick.
When he takes my mouth, his kiss is like no other I’ve ever experienced. My breathing comes in shallow gasps as he gently pushes his hands through my hair, then strokes my neck. His kisses move to cover the flesh of my shoulders is, suffused with the passion I’ve long craved yet never quite found.
Desire pools between my legs and it thrills me no end.
Dan moves his hand to cup my breast and knead it with warm, firm fingers. It makes my breathing expel in jagged gasps of thrill. I push myself into his fingers that trace pure magic. I let him push me down on the bed softly. Loving the feel of his strong hands and that muscular power in the man. He explores my pussy with his fingers. I want it—oh how.
“You drive me crazy, don’t ever think I don’t want you.”
“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t. Maybe next time you’ll teach me how what you planned can be different?”
“You trust me enough?”
I sense the blossoming connection, and feel equally ensnared. Soon, he kisses my thighs, and he claims my clit with his kisses. It takes my breath away. But I don’t want him to stop. His tongue causes sensory delight as he trails it there and suckles me. Then he pulls back only to return and to tease again. Our gazes lock and intensify the thrills. “I thought this was punishment?”
“I think you’ve been punished more than enough. I think you deserve only good things.”
Soon, before I even know it, my legs are tight around his waist. I feel him long and hard and close, and thrillingly enticing. He rolls on a condom, then comes back to where I need him most. Sliding into my moist heat, in a long pleasuring ride of a move. I gasp out his name in wonder.
Dan looks up, and that solemn unspoken question, checking if I’m okay, breaks the spell.
“Stop worrying. I won’t break. Dan. Please, I want you. If you’re worried, let me go on top. Though I’ll struggle being quiet.” I smile.
He moves me on top. Badass even in bed. His jaw is titanium-flexed.
“Soundproofed. No cameras. Copy that.”
Dan
Not only is she über hot, too sexy for sanity’s sake—butt naked with handcuff marks—but the irreversible damage is I’ve no damn right to take her or even aspire to this.
She’s suffered enough. Why would she want more let-downs from another loser bad news guy? What can I give Kate? Except a marriage to my job and fucked-up sex tricks.
But I’m at her mercy and my strict focus on the job in hand has suddenly got mussed, messy and hard to deal with.
I’m inside her and she’s riding me hard, kissing me as if these are our last seconds in time, and she’s nuclear-hot meets pressure cooker of turn-on.
Plus, she has a rare knack for some wild, rampaging alchemy that makes me want to rip clothes off with my teeth whenever she’s near. I watch her breasts jiggle as she rides me, feeling the waves of promise that tell me I’m on the verge. Yet, still she rides harder and faster, and it’s only as I’m here about to experience this stel
lar orgasm I realize I’ve had more vanilla sex with Kate than I’ve had since things went tits up.
This is new.
Can I leave the kind of play I usually opt for? Or risk it with Katie?
Since the Mexican mistakes, I’ve opted for hard, hurting. Pain to rid me of the bugs that crawl beneath my skin about Nathan—partner deceased, guilt indelible. Yet, something about being tied, restrained and hurt helped fill the dark void that’s always there about Nathan being dead, and clears the memories of that night gone wrong.
Or is it that it takes me to the edge, where I feel punishment payback gives me the release?
Kate pulses her muscles around my dick, and I cry out as I fall into spiraling waves of ‘yes’. It briefly overrides the grief that usually overtakes me at the mere memory of my failings.
I’m kissing her hard, grazing her lips with my fierceness and pawing her with demanding, crazed fingers. Shit, but if that doesn’t make me feel more of a monster yet. Even though she’s kissing me back with a raw, carnal hunger I dig.
I pull back swiftly, breathing harder than I had in any gym workout.
“Fuck. Katie—what’s with this?”
“Don’t stop.”
“But. No. I should be gentle…you need…deserve gentle.”
“What do you want, Dan? One minute you want it? Next you can’t get away fast enough.”
I’m grinding out words I don’t want to share, but I can’t hold in. “Because all I have is hard. Fast. Dark. Crazed and messed-up, so I can’t think. Sometimes, it has to get to the point of me howling in pain. You really don’t need that—do you?”
She’s silent. Point taken.
“Who was she?” she asks.
And inside me turns to crimson lava boil. “What?”
“Clearly this is about a woman.”
I shake my head. She so doesn’t need this. Has somebody told? Doesn’t need me in her life nor to hear any deets I’m not willing to give.
“Her real name was Gina. But we didn’t do names—she was Mistress Miscreant.”
She’s staring at me in horror.
“Fake name. She was a hooker. Not so nice, when you get up close, am I?”
Yeah. My masochistic therapy isn’t pretty. But then, it’s only to shed the reptilian killer by default’s skin. To offset the night terrors. So, I take some of what I deserve for letting Nathan die.