Bound by Her Blood

by Mara Leigh

  My heart flutters. “Not even Malcolm or Astrid?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Or Chelle?”

  “Chelle?” His head snaps back. “Why would she ever come down here?”

  “Just wondering.” Knowing I’m the only one who’s been down here warms me inside, gives me hope that Rock might feel as strongly about me as I do about him.

  “And the second?”

  “Second?” he asks.

  “You said first off.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Well, I admit I was worried last night. Barely slept. I had this strange feeling that someone was watching. Watching the whole time, even when I first threw that guy off you in the alley.”

  “You did?” I snuggle in more closely, fear creeping in.

  “Yeah. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I think that if I’m right and someone was watching, if it was that Pike guy, he’d have burst in here already, or tried to nab you upstairs in the bar or when we went out to the club.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” And it does. If someone was watching us in the street tonight, or the alley last night, there’s no way it was Pike. If it were Pike I’d already be dead—or much worse.

  I relax into Rock’s arms, trying to refocus on what I want to discuss. “Rock…”

  “Yes?” He strokes my back.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Something about what happened with that Grayson guy?” he asks softly.

  I sit up to face him. “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. Not really.” He shakes his head. “And it’s none of my business.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “Why?” Rock’s body straightens and his expression turns fierce. “Did he hurt you? Did he do anything uninvited?”

  Uninvited? No direct invitation was ever issued, but I never said no. In fact, when I replay the events in my head, it was me who should have been asking for consent. I was the instigator. That’s why I feel so guilty.

  I shake my head. “No, he didn’t do anything uninvited.”

  “Then it’s all good.” Rock smiles and strokes my hair. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “But…”

  “Acushla. I have no claim on you. Certainly no exclusive claim.”

  “But what if I want you to?” Feeling bold, I straddle Rock’s broad lap. My legs aren’t able to touch the sofa cushions on either side of his body, leaving my weight on my inner thighs as they spread over his expanse.

  His muscles are tense and hard, especially on the left side where a ridge of muscle digs into my inner thigh. It’s hard to even imagine the extent of the strength and power restrained inside Rock’s body.

  Desire fills his eyes, but he stays still, not even touching me anymore. “Selina, I…”

  Fearing an objection, I interrupt his words with a kiss.

  He doesn’t respond, but I refuse to give up. Taking his head between my hands, I press my lips against his, kissing him hard and then soft, over and over, relishing his salty flavor. Rock tastes how I imagine the ocean tastes, or a mountain.

  I am falling in love with this man, and I want to make love with him, too. I need to release tonight’s built-up sexual tension and take our relationship to the next level. If I can’t gather the courage to use words to tell Rock how I feel, I can show him through my actions, use my body to demonstrate all the emotions surging inside me.

  And more than just emotions are rushing through me. My physical lust expands, building from an already hot need into something far stronger, something animalistic, something I fear I can’t control.

  Nibbling on Rock’s lush lips, I bite lightly, and then trace his mouth’s seam with the tip of my tongue, urging it to open.

  When it does, my tongue dives inside, and a rumble builds inside him, starting low where my belly is pressed against his and gaining in strength and volume, rising until it erupts in a groan against my mouth.

  His hands fly to my head and he deepens our kiss, our lips devouring each other’s, like neither of us will ever be satisfied.

  My body rubs against his, the friction delicious yet not nearly enough, but from my position, the best I can do is grind against the button at the waistband of his jeans and although it’s working for me, I need more. Plus I need him to feel good, too.

  I fumble behind us, reaching down for his erection. He must be hard. But where is it? I stretch as my hand traces over the front of his jeans. I can’t find my target, then I feel a twitch beneath my left thigh.

  I gasp. The massive ridge of muscle I’m sitting on isn’t thigh muscle. It’s not part of his leg, it’s over his leg. No wonder I feel lopsided.

  I shift to the right and reach down to the area I exposed. As my fingers slide along the ridge, he hisses against my mouth. My cupped hand can’t even span his massive erection as it rests against his leg, and I slowly slide my fingers toward the head, shocked that I haven’t yet found it. In fact, I may not be able to reach far enough without breaking our kiss.

  Desire pools between my legs even as fear builds in my head.

  When I was captive at court, I was penetrated—forcefully—by large things, horrible things, but this… Rock is so big.

  My fingers finally reach the tip, and I squeeze slightly. He groans and lifts me up, holding me dangling in front of him so I can no longer kiss him or reach where I want.

  His eyes are filled with a heart-wrenching combination of desire and pain. I want to tell that I love him. That I love him so hard, love him with an emotion so strong I can barely contain it.

  “Rock…”

  “Take off your panties.”

  I exhale roughly, my suspended body contracting involuntarily as his words penetrate me with pulsing pleasure. Pleasure followed by fear. I tamp down the fear. Even if the penetration’s painful, even if he tears me, I’ll heal, and I’ll do anything to give this man pleasure. To show him I love him. Anything.

  I tug down my panties and free one leg, but before I can liberate the other, his massive arms lift me higher, above his head.

  Adjusting his hold on me, he moves one of his hands under my right leg. Then, leaning his torso forward on the sofa, he drapes my leg over his shoulder.

  “What?” Holding my back, he scoops my other leg up over him too, and then pushes aside my dress until it’s bunched above my waist.

  His breath hot on my sex, I rest my hands on top of his head.

  I’ve never had oral sex, but I’ve seen it done, though this position isn’t something I’ve ever imagined.

  “Acushla.” He says the word so close to my body that I feel the displacement of air, and even that light touch sends a ripple of pleasure racing through me. “I want to taste you.”

  “Taste?” I gasp.

  His tongue laps along one inner thigh, then the other, and my insides pulse. I’m so wet, I feel sure that I’m flowing like a tap right in front of him. He presses his lips against my mound and kisses me strongly, pulling even more blood to the area. I can barely think, barely breathe.

  His tongue juts out and licks my pubic hair, teasing me, driving me wild, and then it plunges between my folds, landing on my clit and circling there.

  I buck and cry out. The feeling’s so fantastic. So much better than my finger or that ridge on the dungeon bench.

  But before I come, he moves away from my clit, and his tongue trails through my folds, licking down one side and up the other, over and over.

  My climax is so close, but his tongue shifts its attention from the edges of my folds to slide right down the center of me. It skims at first, then strokes more firmly, lingering every few passes to circle my opening and tease the sensitive nerves there.

  After all the horrible sex in my life, all the repulsive things that have been done to hurt me, to control me or punish me…this, this one moment… If it never goes any further than this—this makes up for it all.

  The speed of Rock’s stroking accelerat
es, each pass grazing over both my opening and my clit, his tongue traveling back and forth between the two nerve-filled areas, but just as I’m about to explode, he slows down and starts kissing my labia instead, avoiding my most sensitive places. My hips move, encouraging his tongue, hungry for more.

  When he finally licks my clit again, I gasp at the pleasure. His lips lock around the small bud, creating suction.

  I never…. Oh. Wow.

  My heels press against his back, and I want simultaneously to draw away from the intensity and get closer. Stars explode behind my eyes, and a thousand hot suns burst, burning me up from inside.

  Rock adjusts his grip as my body convulses, as I writhe and grind and buck against his face, riding out an orgasm so intense that nothing I’ve ever felt or even imagined compares.

  When my body finally starts to slow, he relaxes his grip. I’m panting, my insides still throbbing, wanting to feel that huge cock moving inside me. It’s a good thing he got me well prepared.

  His hand tightens around my waist and I get ready for him to lift me down, but instead he lifts me higher, and slides himself lower, so that his head’s resting on the back of the sofa with my lower legs trapped between his shoulders and the cushion.

  He adjusts me slightly, and then traces my opening again, making his tongue into a hard point as he strokes. The tightly rolled muscles generate different sensations than the flatter version, and I’m just getting used to it when his curled-up tongue pierces my opening.

  Shocked by the unexpected penetration, I tense around it. He groans and the sound rumbles through his mouth to vibrate inside me.

  Pulling down on my hips, he forces his tongue deeper, and I relax my inner muscles as he presses in and out of me, using his hands at my hips to gain traction, fucking me with his taut organ in a way that feels a million times better than any other kind of penetration I’ve ever experienced. It’s not even in the same category of acts.

  His tongue thrusts, over and over, and his hands hold me firmly above him as he continues to dive. My legs and hips get in on the action, until I’m bouncing on top of his face, like we’ve invented some wild kind of rodeo event.

  Another orgasm builds deep inside me, tightening every muscle in my body at once and creating an ache deep inside me, like my womb is convulsing. All my muscles contract at once as the climax explodes, and I rest my forehead against the wall as my body contracts, greedily wanting every second of pleasure to be gleaned from his mouth.

  After the last trace of orgasm shudders through me, I can’t move. I know I should get off his face before I risk smothering him, but his tongue’s still inside me, and each time he exhales my body tingles. I’m at the edge of wanting even more.

  His tongue starts sliding again, slowly pulling all the way out, and then tracing my folds before piercing me quickly again. And after countless rounds of that, he pulls it out, lingering at the entrance and lightly licking me there.

  “Oh, Rock,” I sigh.

  He pushes hard into me again.

  His tongue curls and licks my inner wall, rubbing the tip firmly against the front of my vagina. Within seconds, I come again. As he rubs me inside, I pound on the wall behind him, and my entire body vibrates. Sparks fly from every nerve, shooting so far I expect the room to catch fire.

  When my inner contractions finally subside, I shake with the aftershocks as he gently lowers me onto my back on the sofa. I spread my legs wide for him. As wide as the back of the sofa allows.

  “I’m ready, Rock.” I look into his desire-filled eyes. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Rock.” I lift my head from the sofa. Is it time? Time to tell him I love him? That I’ll do anything to make him happy?

  He stands, pulls my dress down over my sex and rests his hand there, hot and heavy and comforting after so much stimulation.

  “Acushla.” He shakes his head. “I am not the man for you. I can never give you what you want. What you need. What you deserve. You deserve someone to fully love you and that man, it can never be me.”

  He backs away, and I curl up into myself, turning onto my side, wanting to drown in my sadness.

  Chapter 17

  Rock

  Watching Selina sleep, my heart breaks in two. I brought her to sexual climax more than once tonight, but my tongue and even my fingers will never be enough. We can never complete the act of love that she craves, that she deserves.

  But that repulsive act…

  Nightmarish memories flood my mind and weaken my limbs. I stagger into my room and collapse against the dresser. My legs crumple under me, dropping me to a crouch, my hands cradling my head against my knees as the nightmare takes hold.

  “Behold!” the barker announces like he does every night. “Behold the giant and his prodigious piston! Behold the beast let loose!”

  The crowd cheers.

  “And gentlemen, be warned,” the barker continues. “Leave your women behind. This show will cause all decent ladyfolk to collapse into a trance from which they will never awaken.”

  Every night, every show, no matter how many years passed, I trembled hearing these words. I still tremble now, at the memory. When the owner first conceived of my loathsome show, I was defiant, swearing I would never perform.

  But soon they figured out a way to force me. Every night they’d torture my Lily until I complied. They’d threaten her and force me to hurt other women to protect the one I loved.

  I squeeze my head, trying to crush the memories flooding back.

  The curtain draws open, and the crowd cheers. Not for me. I’m still in the wings. The audience cheers for the poor, unsuspecting prostitute my handler hired.

  My victim prances across the stage as instructed, her breasts bouncing above her bodice, her nipples garishly rouged and her skirts hiked up to reveal her split pantaloons.

  She turns to expose her sex to the gathered men, spreading her legs as they cheer at her wiggling ass and glistening sex.

  My handler, in the wings near me, growls, “Okay, monster. Time to get it up.”

  Bound by thick chains, I lunge at him, but he remains out of range.

  “Oh! Look who’s come to watch,” the handler says, pointing into the wings on the other side of the stage.

  I try not to look where he’s pointing, but not looking won’t stop them from touching her, hurting her.

  Facing me from the other side of the stage is Lily. My love is encaged, naked, spread-eagled, her hands and feet bound, her mouth gagged.

  “The whore is ready for you,” the handler behind me says. “Both whores, I should say.” One of the men on the other side of the stage fondles Lily’s body and she writhes, stretching against her bindings trying to escape his touch.

  Coming up behind her, he makes rude thrusts as he pinches her nipples.

  I choke down my reaction, knowing from experience that any show of anger will only turn his mock thrusts into real ones.

  “Perform well,” my handler says, “or the slut in the cage dies. But not until after the men have some fun while you watch.” I know this line well. He says it to me every night. And I know he means it. The few nights I refused to perform, they made me watch while they raped her.

  I cannot let that happen. Never again. Even if it means killing the woman on stage.

  “Behold!” the barker cries out to the crowd.

  He gives the prostitute a signal, and she bends over, parting the gap in her pantaloons to expose her sex to the men again.

  They all cheer.

  “As you can see,” the barker says, “this woman has a normal-sized cunny.” The crowd cheers and shouts lewd suggestions.

  “May I have a volunteer to verify?” the barker calls out.

  As always, nearly every man fights to get onstage.

  The one chosen is asked to penetrate the woman’s body with his finger and the woman squeals in staged delight.

  “
Is this gentleman’s finger big?” the barker asks the prostitute.

  She nods and feigns sexual ecstasy as the volunteer pumps his finger inside her. The crowd cheers.

  “Could you take something bigger?” the barker asks and she vigorously shakes her head no.

  “Oh, but I think she can. What do you say?” he asks the crowd, while holding up two fingers, then three.

  Encouraged by the crowd, the man on stage adds more digits to his finger rutting. Sweat rises on the man’s pudgy face and an obvious bulge rises in his pants.

  “Thank you,” the barker says to the volunteer. “I think that she’s ready.”

  As the man’s escorted off, an apparatus is rolled forward from the back of the stage. The woman’s hands are manacled to it, then her feet, her body bent forward over a padded rail.

  Why they bother padding the rail is beyond me. I suppose so that they can be seen as kind while I am the brute.

  While all this is happening, I furiously rub my cock, wanting it not only hard, but ready to release. I know the consequences of walking on stage flaccid. Lily pays. And I want this to be over as quickly as possible.

  “But,” the barker says, “even if this lady’s ready for a good rutting, can any cunt be truly ready for this?”

  On cue, I walk on stage, my ankle chains clanging on the floor behind me, and one hand supporting my monstrous rod. The crowd gasps. They always gasp.

  I fight the shame and rage coursing inside me, and I silently ask the woman for forgiveness, resolving to get the show over as quickly as possible. Anything I can do to shorten Lily’s torture, not to mention my fellow performer’s.

  My only consolation—and it’s small—is that my costume covers my face and some of my shame. But it covers little else. A leather mask shields my features, barely allowing me to see or breathe, and a few scant leather straps wrap around my body, all of them joined to the heavy chains I drag behind me. My constraints allow me to reach the woman, but go no farther.

  The crank locks into place with a loud clang, as my handler stops me several feet away from her. I continue to rub myself, determined to climax fast, but not so fast I don’t get inside her first. Lily will pay the price for that mistake, too.