by Alta Hensley
My head spun with all the different sensations coursing through me. My body stung from all the thorns and scrapes. My ass burned from both the strapping and the fucking I’d received, and my inner core still throbbed with desire. I’d had a small taste of his fingers on me… I wanted more. I wanted more of Cal’s touch… and what was totally confusing was that I didn’t particularly care however he chose to give it. Hard and demanding or soft and giving—it didn’t matter. Yes, there had to be something wrong with me. I was just with his fucking brother!
I needed to stop overthinking everything. It wasn’t like I was in a conventional situation. I’d been kidnapped by four brothers who expected me to play wife to them and act like we were all one big happy family. How could I expect I would act normal, when my life was far from it? Still, I needed to try, right?
“No, I think you got them all. Thank you.”
Cal applied some ointment on the bigger scrapes and placed some bandages on the ones still bleeding.
“You’re welcome.” He packed up the first aid kit. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
My heart skipped a beat. If only he truly meant what he said. Spending a night in his bed—or in anyone’s bed—seemed like one hell of a good idea. Knowing that wasn’t what he meant at all, I followed him out of the kitchen and up the stairs with disappointment weighing heavy.
When we reached the hallway between all the individual bedrooms, we both paused in awkward silence. There was something about Cal that made me want to wrap my arms around him and entice my way into his bed, or perhaps invite him into mine. But at the same time, I wanted to strangle the jerk. I wanted to kill every single one of the O’Shea brothers in their sleep about as much as I wanted to… well… to fuck each one of them.
After tonight—and Derrick having me admit my most hidden and taboo feelings—I wanted them all more than ever before. Was it that every one of them was incredibly good looking, their bodies so fit, so incredibly hard that I ached to run my hand… my lips, my tongue over every inch of their skin? Was it the strength, the overprotectiveness, and their dominance? I couldn’t figure it out.
Cal was the first to break the silence. “Good night, Monet.”
The huskiness of his voice made my heart pitter-patter and my knees go weak. God I wanted him.
“Good night, Cal.” I walked into my room and closed the door behind me.
In somewhat of a stupor, I moved across the floor, pausing when I reached the bed… the naked bed. My foolish attempt at rebellion had left me with my sheets lying in the dirt below my open window. I sat on the edge of the bed knowing I hadn’t seen any sheets when Alana and I had unpacked some boxes earlier. I thought about crawling onto the bare mattress, but realized that was not only ridiculous, but it would be uncomfortable. I had no choice but to go to Cal, who I knew was still awake, to see where the spare sheets were stored. Standing and retracing my steps, I slipped out of my room and went to knock on his door.
Before I could even get the second knock to connect with the wood, it flung open. Cal emerged, his body silhouetted by the light shining through his window. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled my lips to his. The warmth on my mouth dissolved away all thought, and every sense in my body, except for touch. Fire exploded within me, leaving me panting for air. I didn’t need to figure anything out. All I knew was that this was what I needed, what I desperately wanted.
Cal’s hands were so huge, so strong. I could feel them completely encircle my waist as he pulled me hard against him. The man who was always in control brought a smile to my lips as I felt a shudder rip through him, knowing he was as affected by this… what? Chemistry? Lust? Animal magnetism? Whatever name, whatever label was used didn’t matter. What mattered was that it had me gasping for breath, aware of the bulge of Cal’s cock pressed into my stomach, both of our bodies screaming for release.
The moan I’d been trying to hold back, escaped me in a tantalizing rush. Cal’s hands tightened around me. He reeled me into him, pulling me even closer, molding me to his solid chest with unexpectedly sensual, gentle hands. Feeling more of the hard length of his sex pressing against my body, I craved more.
I finally remembered to breathe. Lifting my head to look up at him, I saw nothing more than the shadowed outline of his face, backlit by the soft moonlight beaming through his bedroom window.
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” I managed, the words weak and breathless, and not at all what I truly wanted to say.
“You aren’t.” He slid his hands lower, cupping my still tender buttocks. “You’re dangerous, Monet.” His husky words sounded like a warning—a strained voice of reason echoing amongst a storm of hungry need.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, not bothering to deny his words, seeking his strength and command. “I feel…” I didn’t know what else to say, how else to resist a man so able to shatter my every resistance. Everything about this was wrong. So very wrong. I had just been with Derrick. I had thoughts of being with every single brother.
So fucking wrong!
I ran my fingertips up the center of his chest and then across to his upper arms. Desire flooded through me as I touched him. Not attempting to strike him or push him away. No, I wanted to stroke his flesh, to feel his muscles flexing beneath my fingertips, each caress increasing the heat that swamped my senses.
He held me still, lowering his head, kissing the side of my neck with parted lips. He seduced me not with force, but with gentleness. “Tell me to stop,” he commanded.
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to obey him in this. Memories of how he’d stopped that night in his truck… how my body, my mind, had both protested flooded through me. I didn’t think I could survive if he pulled away again. Not when my entire body was on fire with a need that had to be quenched. “No.” It was the only word I could barely whisper. Speech was conquered by sexual need.
In one quick movement, Cal scooped me up into his arms and carried me to his bed. My body melted against his, my tongue dancing with his in the depths of his mouth.
God. I needed more, needed to feel his skin against mine. Hastily I pulled his shirt up over his head and ran my hands down his chest. I reveled in how smooth and sleek his skin felt against my fingertips, each muscle clearly defined. Sexual attraction took on a whole other meaning at that moment.
Cal moaned as he kissed me deeper, guiding me onto the mattress below. With movements as graceful and gentle as before, he removed my torn clothing, drawing the shirt over my head and lowering my pants effortlessly. I shivered, not with cold, but with need. I moaned when he removed my bra, his fingertips running over my breasts, each stroke a promise of what was to come. My entire body screamed for his touch as he lowered his head and gave both of my nipples a kiss, his hands sliding down to slip beneath the waistband of my panties. As he began to lower them, I lifted my hips to ease their journey, my heart demanding he hurry, my soul aching for him to take me. To claim me as Derrick had just done. Despite my whimpers, my entreaties to plunge into me, to fill my empty pussy, he took his time, my mind swirling as he placed soft kisses over every inch of skin he’d exposed. Pleasure escalated with each touch and with every moment I lay beneath his weight, but it was too slow.
“Now,” I demanded. “I need you, now.” Reaching for him, I found my hands taken, my arms lifted above my head.
“You’re not running the show,” he said, guiding my hands to the rails of the bedframe. “Grab on and don’t let go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Monet
Not sure if the metal felt cold because I was so hot, so needy, I welcomed the coolness as I wrapped my fingers around the iron rail. The very act of obeying, of submission, caused my mind to rebel but only for the briefest moment as Cal settled over my body. God, his entire being screamed primal male and my whole body shuddered, my desire ratcheting higher. His thick thighs hugged either side of my hips; his cock, standing straight out from his body lay along my stomach, hard as a rod of steel, thic
k and heavy. The plum-colored, mushroom-shaped head seemed to stare at me, a drop of pre-cum oozing from the slit. Suddenly my mouth flooded with saliva, the desire to lick up that pearly drop having my tongue running along my bottom lip, and my hand moving to reach for the cock I so desperately needed to taste.
“No,” he said, instantly reaching to capture my hand, guiding it back to the rail.
“But I want to touch you,” I whined.
“It’s not about what you want, it’s what I want,” he said. The words might have been meant as a chastisement, but the look in his eyes was more of a promise. Settling back, the drop of pre-cum now transferred as a glistening streak on my belly from his move over me, I shuddered yet again as his hands settled on my breasts. His sun-kissed skin was so much darker than mine, his fingertips calloused from manual labor, each stroke causing my nipples to tighten further, to begin to throb, to turn a darker pink as blood rushed to fill them. The moment he finally took hold of each one, closing the buds between his fingers and thumbs, I moaned and arched.
“Oh God,” I said as he began to roll the sensitive buds, to twist, to pull. Every tug sent a bolt of electricity straight to my clit, and I could imagine it swelling, poking out from its hood, seeking the same attention, needy for its own touch.
Cal’s dark head bent, his mouth opened to draw one nipple between his lips. His tongue rasped over the aching peak before his lips closed and he suckled hard. I felt my pussy flood and pulse with every suck. I had never felt such a connection between my breasts and my sex. I couldn’t stop either the soft moans and mewls or the shifting of my hips, the scrape of the sheets against the stripes Derrick had placed on my ass deliciously arousing, erotic. Cal moved from breast to breast, taking his time, until my feet were drumming on the bed and I felt on the very brink of discovering I could come from breast play alone, only to be denied. Where I’d wanted to demand he hurry up and fill me, now all I wanted was for him to continue suckling, nibbling on my nipples, yet it appeared he had other plans.
His tongue drew a path down my torso, dipping to swirl inside my belly button, the new sensation one that again sent a bolt of desire straight south as he began to move back. Once he was kneeling, his thighs on either side of my knees, he slid a hand beneath each one, lifting my legs to place them over his shoulders. I moaned, feeling my face heat when his eyes settled on my pussy so blatantly displayed as he lifted my hips off the bed, forcing my shoulders to take my weight. I groaned as his hands moved to cup the cheeks of my ass.
“The strap does a good job of leaving its mark, doesn’t it,” Cal said, his rough fingers scraping across my buttocks.
I didn’t need to answer. The weals left by the band of leather were obvious, his palms molding to them as his roughened fingertips squeezed my punished flesh. All I could do was tighten my grip around the headboard and allow his touch to reignite the fire his brother had begun. My eyes slammed shut the moment I felt his touch on my most intimate opening. The memories of what Derrick had done, the knowledge that I’d surrendered my cherry as well as my belief that anal sex was not my sexual kink made my blood rush and my pussy spasm.
“Got your ass fucked, did you?” he asked, a finger slipping inside that dark, recently used little hole, to swirl around, to pull out.
I shrieked when his palm connected with my ass, my eyes flying open in shock to meet his.
“I asked you a question, Monet,” he said, his finger returning to dip inside again.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, your brother fucked my ass—hard.”
“And did you like it?” he asked, his strokes in and out of my ass slow and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.
I hesitated, wondering how to answer. If I lied, would he know? If I told the truth, what would he think? Would he think I was a slut? That I was nothing more than a whore? It was so tempting to lie, to play the part of some injured party and yet all he’d need to do is talk to his brother to learn the truth. Someone who didn’t enjoy the act surely would not have begged to come, someone who hadn’t needed a single touch to her clit… the cock pounding in her ass enough to cause her to implode.
“Yes, I-I did.”
His expression darkened and his finger slipped free, his hands taking a tighter hold on my ass as he spread my legs even wider. Looking down at me, he grinned. “You’re dripping wet, Monet. I can smell your arousal, see it glistening on your thighs, your curls, your cunt. Now, I’m going to taste it.” With that, his head lowered and his tongue broadened. In one long, languid stroke, he licked me from ass to clit and I cried out, all thoughts of Derrick evaporating as Cal began to feast.
“Please, oh God, please!” I begged minutes later, sure if he didn’t grant my request this time, if he didn’t let me climax, I was going to die. He had some uncanny ability to know the very moment that I was about to come, the second before I was stepping off the cliff. It was pure torture that at that exact moment, his tongue would lift, his lips would cease their suckling. “Please, Cal. I need to come!” How he could control himself was beyond me. I knew his cock was hard, had been rigid for ages, and yet he was not only denying me, he was foregoing his own pleasure.
“Don’t you like foreplay?” he asked, his chin glistening with my essence as he looked at me from between my trembling thighs.
“Yes, but you are killing me!” I said, meaning every word. “Please, for fuck’s sake, have mercy!”
“For fuck’s sake?” he asked, grinning and shaking his head. “Do I look like a merciful man to you?”
Perhaps the fact that he, that every O’Shea brother, had a far different reputation than one of mercy, should have terrified me, but it didn’t. Not at this moment, at least. Right now, I didn’t care about anything other than easing the ache he’d been causing with every lick of that extremely talented tongue.
“You’re right,” I said, locking my eyes with his. “I don’t want mercy… I need you to take me, to claim me, to fuck me… to make me explode.”
His nostrils flared. “Careful what you ask for. You might regret it.”
The threat sounded far more like a promise. A promise I was praying he would deliver. I didn’t immediately speak, allowing my body to answer for me, lifting my hips, rotating them as much as I could with his huge body between my legs, my hands releasing the rail for a moment to flex my fingers before gripping the metal again.
Licking my lips, I moaned and said, “The only thing I’m going to regret is if you don’t make me scream.”
I screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed again.
If what he’d been doing was foreplay, then what he did now was walking into a battle. His tongue lashed at my cunt. There were no more soft kisses or gentle nibbles. His teeth nipped at my flesh, drawing my pussy lips out to bite each one, his breath hot on sensitive flesh until I came and then came again, and again. His attack was ruthless, a man on a mission, an athlete striving for the gold medal, a soldier determined to take the hill, to win the war.
I was soon pleading for another reason, begging for relief from the waves of constant sensation rolling over me like a tsunami. “God I can’t!” I cried when his tongue thrust into my pussy yet again, driving like a piston in and out of me. “Please, no more.”
His head lifted and I almost wept with the relief, but it lasted only as long as it took him to flip me over, the move surprising and effortless on his part. My body was a limp noodle, shudders rippling from my head to my toes, yet he didn’t seem to care.
“Up on your hands and knees,” he demanded, swatting my ass to motivate me into moving.
I groaned, but managed to lift myself, my fingers moving from the iron railing to clutch the sheets beneath me. My nipples ached where they were pressed into the mattress, and yet I felt a pulse flutter in my pussy as they were abraded by the fabric. Strong hands gripped my thighs, pushing them apart as his body moved up to settle between them.
“You’ll come again,” he said, not as a questio
n but as a command. I felt the broad head of his cock at the entrance to my pussy, and whimpered. Not in fear, but in relief that I was finally going to feel him press inside me, to stretch me, to fill me. “What was that you wanted, Monet? To be fucked?”
“Yes,” I said, turning my head back to look up at him. “Fucked, hard.”
And once again, this man, this member of the Irish mob, a man who had no concept of surrender, of mercy, gave me exactly what I wanted. With a single thrust, he drove into me, drawing out yet another cry as his balls slapped against my wet cunt. He was like a jackhammer, pistoning in and out of me, his hold on my hips the only thing keeping me from banging into the headboard with the ferocity of his thrusts. It was merciless and the most incredible feeling I’d ever experienced. We weren’t making love… this was primal, raw fucking at its basest level, and I treasured every single moment.
I screamed his name as I exploded, stars bursting beneath my eyelids, my heart pounding so hard I feared it might burst. Still he continued, until finally he pushed deep, his hold on my body tightening as he tilted my ass up in order to go just a fraction of an inch deeper. I could feel his cock jerking again and again as he filled me with his cum, could hear his ragged breathing as I mewled, accepting each drop of his seed and then every ounce of his weight as he collapsed on top of me. It was several moments before he rolled off, turning me over and grinning as he looked down at me.
“I’m so glad you came to my room, so glad you wanted this,” he said breathlessly.
“What?” I asked, not sure I’d heard him correctly.
“I see you remember what we told you. That sex isn’t a requirement, that we’d not force you,” he said, his lips nibbling on my neck before he chuckled. “I admit, I thought it would take longer than a day for you to beg me to fuck you.”