by Jeffe Kennedy, Christine d’Abo, Elise Logan, Emily-Ryan Davis, Jodie Griffin
Taking him in her mouth, she used every trick she knew, though not being able to use her hands made it more difficult. It also added to the sense of being helplessly out of control. The hot sun beat down, drying her skin, but she focused entirely on his cock in her mouth, on pleasing her captor.
Relaxing her throat, she swallowed him in as far as she could, driving him hard and fast. Miguel threw back his head, hands clenched, the veins standing out on his muscular forearms. With a sense of power, she pushed him over the edge, drinking in his hoarse shout of pleasure as he bucked in her mouth.
She held him there while he softened, coming back to himself.
“Enough.” He wrapped a fist in her hair to pull her off him. He kept his face creased in mean, aggressive lines, but he breathed heavily, clearly affected. Tucking his gleaming cock away, he rebuttoned his shorts. “You please me well enough to keep you for my own. But you need a bit of discipline to teach you your place.”
He tied another length of rope around her neck in a loose collar, leaving a length free for a leash. Then he pulled a knife from his belt sheath and cut the ties on her wrists and ankles. “Hands and knees, pet.”
She crawled along the poolside as he tugged lightly on the leash. Her breasts hung down heavy and the sensation of being his captive pet blew her mind. Though it was only a game, the surpassing urge to please him suffused her body like oxygen. She thought if he touched her again, she might climax immediately.
Leading her to the end of one of the lounge chairs, he brusquely ordered her to lie on it with her upper body, knees on the smooth Caribbean-blue pool tiles. With more rope, he tied her wrists to the arms of the chair and her knees to its feet. The bonds weren’t tight, giving her room to wriggle, which he seemed to like.
“Struggle all you like, pet. You will never escape me. Soon you will beg for my discipline...and my cock.” A stinging blow, more painful than any before, shocked the breath from her body. Before she could catch it again, another slap landed. This wasn’t his hand, but something harder. She began struggling against her bonds, frantically keening, while he spanked her again and again.
This was so much better than trying to keep still on her own.
She cried out to him, begging and pleading, a catharsis of tension that climaxed with him tossing aside the paddle in a clatter and plunging into her, shouting out that she belonged to him. His fingers dug into her hips while she urged him to fuck her. Fuck her harder. Fuck her forever.
Their voices twined into a duet of passion, crying out to the clear blue sky and the sun, hanging like an orb of gold in the center.
* * *
As wrung out as she felt this time, Miguel lay collapsed over her back, a hot, slick weight. She made a noise of protest when he withdrew from her and he murmured shushing sounds, stroking her back. He cut the ropes, including the one around her neck, and helped her to lie on her stomach on the lounge.
Groaning, he got to his feet and padded away. When he returned, he rubbed cooling cream into the fiery flesh of her bottom. “You have such tender skin,” he commented. “So sensitive.”
She craned her neck to look over her shoulder. Now her ass was red, with several angry-looking lines. More what she’d expected this morning. It barely hurt, though, probably because she still rode some sort of endorphin high. That had been spectacular. She sighed out a long breath and caught him watching her intently.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
She scooted a hand out and laced her fingers with his. “Miguel, that was more than okay. It was an out-of-body amazing event.”
He smiled then and she realized he’d been worried. He ran a gentle hand over her bottom and she hissed at the sting, feeling it now. “My tender virgin.”
“Hardly that.”
“In so many enticing ways.” He bent to kiss her, high on the cheekbone. “We’ll have to go carefully on the next two.”
“Do there have to be four? I mean it’s just a crazy song.”
“Yes. Those are the rules.”
“Obsess much, Miguel?”
He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “You have no idea, Roo.”
A little shiver went through her at the intensity. At the same time, she got it. More than one person had accused her of the same.
“All right. Two more spankings. Remind me to leave instructions over where to ship my remains.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “What now—nap in the shade? Then perhaps a swim, a little spanking and sunset cocktails then the dancing I owe you.”
“And then once more unto the breach.”
“I think you like it more than you pretend.”
She closed her eyes, letting the lassitude seep through her. “No comment.”
* * *
He woke her from a deep and boneless sleep. Surprised to see the sun already lowering in the sky, she started to get up, then stopped when Miguel shook his head, pointing sternly to the pool deck.
Her groggy mind taking an unduly long time to catch up, she nearly asked a question, but the strict lines of his expression showed that he was in no mood for negotiating. With a quiver, she obeyed, sliding off the lounger onto her hands and knees. With his bare foot, he pressed her head down until her forearms were flat, her brow resting on her hands. The sense of unreality—her thoughts still scattered from the heavy afternoon sleep—swamped her. She wasn’t sure who she was, where she existed.
There was only him and the primal desire to please him.
Soft, yielding and barely awake, she hardly registered the first stinging slap of the paddle. But the tears came immediately, welling out of some deep place that remained still open, that she hadn’t had time to board up with her conscious mind. This time it was no struggle to hold still, she simply knelt there while he punished her, weeping for all the times she hadn’t cried. For all the little wounds that had never healed.
She was still sobbing when he stopped. When he sat on the hot tiles next to her and gathered her into his lap, his sweat combining with her tears, while he rocked her.
After a while, empty, she managed to raise her head. Faintly embarrassed, she wiped her wet face and he gave her the room to do it.
“Sorry,” she said. “I really don’t know what came over me.”
“It happens like that sometimes,” he replied, staring off into the scorching blue sky. “We’ve probably been going too fast. One of my failings.”
“And here I didn’t think you had any.”
Now he glanced down at her, keen eyes darkly amused. “One could only wish.”
She sighed for the truth of that.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “We can skip the rest of the program, if you need time to yourself.”
“No.” The firmness of her tone surprised them both. “Dinner, dancing and one more spanking.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in his musky man scent, and kissed him long and hard. “Those are the rules.”
* * *
They both needed to clean up for the evening. Miguel produced a set of sweats for her to borrow—proving there were clothes after all—so she could run down to her room for a dress and to get her make-up. The suite felt slightly stale and abandoned, a little forlorn. The lovely—and far from cheap—room managed to seem drab in comparison to the penthouse.
How quickly one’s standards could be corrupted.
It didn’t help that she felt like a different person from the one who’d first checked into this room. She hadn’t thought about anything work in what seemed like forever. It was good.
He’d said elegant, so she put on the best dress she’d brought—a flirty black number with a fluttering skirt excellent for dancing. She gelled her hair into spiraling curls and added dangling gold earrings. Black eye
liner, much thicker than she usually went for, and a deep red lipstick she’d bought on impulse and never worn. She looked surprisingly good, considering the extended crying jag. But she felt light and unburdened, leaving a happiness behind that shone through in her bright eyes and tanned skin.
No one from home would recognize her and the idea oddly pleased her.
* * *
Miguel greeted her with a glass of champagne, his keen gaze assessing her. “You look spectacular. Still up for more?”
She tossed back the wine with a grin. “You haven’t scared me off yet. You look most handsome yourself.”
He wore a black suit this time, cut in lean lines, with a gleaming ebony tie against a matching matte silk shirt. An expensive-looking belt circled his hips, wicked leather with a dark inlaid buckle. Seeing her notice it, he stroked his fingers along the braided surface and smiled suggestively. “For the final spanking. So you can be prepared this time.”
She wished she hadn’t guzzled the champagne, because she could really use another sip. Desire rushed through her, clean and hot. “Maybe we should just stay in.”
He took the glass from her and set it on the counter. “Turn around.”
Was he going to do it now? Her heart stuttered, but she did as he said, closing her eyes when he drew down the back zipper of her dress and let it slip down her body to pool on the floor.
“No underwear,” he instructed and set the jewelry and vibrator boxes on the counter, then poured them both more champagne. Taking his, he sat on the couch, crossing his long legs. “Strip, give me your bra and panties, then put your jewelry on.”
Feeling a bit like the floor show, she stood naked but for her heels and applied the nipple rings and clit clamp to herself for the first time. It wasn’t as easy as it looked and she would have been a little embarrassed by her fumbling if he hadn’t watched her with such avid hunger in his face, idly toying with his belt buckle. Instead of abating his intensity, their escalating games only seemed to be bringing out the wolf in Miguel. He hardly resembled the worn and slightly frazzled lawyer she’d met on the plane.
As soon as she inserted the bullet, he slipped a hand in his pocket and clicked it on to a low level. Then he tossed back the rest of his glass and stood. “What are you waiting for?” He grinned at her. All the better to eat you with. “Put your dress back on. We can hardly go dancing with you naked, tempting as the image might be.”
Flustered, having forgotten entirely about dancing, she pulled the dress on and waited, almost shyly, for him to zip it up. In the elevator, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her temple. With the other hand, he cupped her breast through the silk, compressing the ring around her nipple so that she squirmed against him, his warm chuckle huffing against her skin.
“You delight me, Roo. Have I told you that? An unexpected pleasure.”
“I’m feeling rather delighted myself,” she answered, pleased and flattered. Odd how the nature of their fling allowed them to be honest with each other in a way she rarely found in relationships. No expectations or tests for future longevity. Eight more days of pleasuring each other and they’d move on. It allowed for a kind of openness she could rarely afford.
The evening passed in an erotic haze. Miguel kept the bullet at least on low, sometimes kicking it up during a slow dance, supporting her while she concentrated on not coming—something made infinitely more difficult by the way he whispered wicked suggestions in her ear, while nipping her lobe with sharp teeth.
They ate, drank and danced under the stars, Miguel treating her with a casual sexual ferocity and extravagant romance that combined into a heady mix that overcame her as much as the titillation of the clamps and bullet. He held her close, running casual hands over her hips, reminding her what they both knew, that she was naked but for an easily removed dress and that it was because he wanted her that way.
Sometime long after midnight—technically breaking the rules, but she wasn’t going to point that out—they rode up in the elevator and Miguel slipped his fingers around her wrist, tightening there.
The doors opened into the quiet penthouse and he led her into it, then pressed her to her knees without a word. Something about his unspoken commands affected her more deeply than anything else. As if what went between them was beyond words.
Her arousal screaming up to another level entirely, she knelt and watched him unbuckle the belt, looping the soft leather around his hand.
Now she knew what it would be like and already part of her craved the high. She wanted this, even though her already sore bottom burned at the thought of still more punishment. He tapped the end of the belt thoughtfully against one palm, his anticipation barely restrained. Then, flicking a finger at her, indicated she should remove the dress.
It wasn’t easy, without his help with the zipper, but he seemed to enjoy watching her movements. When she was naked, dress tossed aside, he nudged her knees apart with the toe of his expensive leather shoes. Obligingly she spread her thighs, unable to tear her gaze from the tapping leather. He guided her hands behind her neck and stroked her back so she arched it, thrusting out her breasts, gilded by the tight gold rings. The room was so silent she thought she could hear the gentle surf, stroking the shore.
After an interminable time during which she posed for him, he urged her onto her hands and knees and, with a startling crack of the leather on her upturned ass, sent her crawling to the bedroom. The belt licked at her as she crawled, her nipples and clit unbearably swollen against the clamps, and she thought she might never get there, trying to race ahead of the whipping belt that drove her, mindlessly, to his bed.
She crawled onto it, panting, but not in tears like before. Instead, this time, each crack of the leather on her skin seemed like gasoline on fire. Lying face-down, she writhed on the cool sheets, almost welcoming the sting, keening along with it, anticipating the pleasure to follow.
“Kneel up,” he growled and she became aware that he’d stopped. Scrambling up, she knelt on the bed facing him. He held the belt in front of her face and, without knowing why, she kissed it. Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the leather around her neck, loosely threading the belt through the buckle so it dangled between her aching breasts.
Slowly, he stripped out of the suit, and she watched with famished patience. Naked, he rolled a condom onto his erection, laid his hands on her shoulders, pushing her inexorably back, so that, with her knees still bent under her, her back arched. Holding her like that, he plucked the rings from her nipples with his teeth, keeping her still while she writhed and whimpered. His hand delved between her legs, pulled out the bullet and snapped away the clit clamp in one nearly brutal move.
He plunged into her while she was still recovering, pulling her trapped feet from under her and thrusting her knees high as he pounded into her. She clung to his shoulders, transfixed by the feral light in his eyes, letting herself be taken.
“Sing, little bird. Come for me and sing your sweet song.”
Giving into the orgasm like she gave into him, she gave voice to the raw intensity of her pleasure.
December 29
Fifth Day of Christmas
Five Gold Rings
When she awoke on her fifth full day of vacation, Miguel slept next to her, buried face-down in a pillow, barely draped in a white sheet. The morning sun poured in like liquid gold, burnishing his dark skin, making him into a lean sculpture of a man.
Once again she congratulated herself on such a fine vacation find.
Letting him sleep—for surely he needed it, given the way they’d spent most of the night before—she took a long, refreshing shower. He hadn’t moved by the time she emerged, so she wandered naked out onto the sun deck. The discreet servers had come and gone while they were out last night, cleaning up the dishes and clearing away all evidence of their long Saturday of decadence.
Copying Miguel’s method, she called down to room service and asked them to send up breakfast in the elevator. In the mood for a big Sunday brunch, she ordered everything that sounded good—and made sure they put it on her room tab.
When Miguel emerged nearly an hour later, bleary-eyed and sexily rumpled in the white silk pajama bottoms, it was her turn to hand him his coffee—black and strong. He took in her plate—heaped with biscuits, sausage gravy and eggs, next to a half-demolished Belgian waffle with amaretto-caramelized bananas—and shook his head.
“I was starving.”
“So I see.” He kissed her on the forehead, sat and began to fill his own plate. “I’m surprisingly hungry today, too.”
“All that exercise yesterday.”
“Indeed. Speaking of which, how are your...tender areas today?”
He seemed to be much more relaxed today. Expansive, with all signs of the wolf bled away. She wiggled her naked bottom on the chair. “Not too bad. Kinda sore.”
“Not surprising. We’ll save more strenuous activities for tonight. Care to do some sightseeing?”
“Yes!” She pointed a forkful of waffle and whipped cream at him. “But I’m not going naked.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” He smiled, that charming lawyer grin that meant he planned to get his way. “I know exactly what you’ll wear.”
It turned out to be a simple oufit—a white, thin cotton halter sundress, reminiscent of the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in the famous skirt-blowing-up scene. Tilda put it on, then tied the halter a bit more loosely so her nipples didn’t show through quite so much. However, when Miguel added the gold clamps to her nipples, he made the halter tighter than she had. She thought about arguing propriety, since they were going out in public, but he had her holding the full skirt over her head while she straddled his lap and he stroked her clit to throbbing life before slipping in her silver bullet and clamping on the alligator clip.
By the time he let her go, she was campaigning for another day of sex by the private pool and had forgotten about how the dress looked. He promised her the five gold rings for later in the day, told her to stop whining or he wouldn’t let her come for the rest of the week, and whisked her into the elevator.