by Pam Godwin
The vibration of her groan sent an electric current through his dick. It buried his balls deep. He froze long enough to keep the climax at bay.
When he thought he’d reached a safe degree of control, he reared his hand back and slapped her thigh with as much force as a hundred pound girl could absorb.
She smiled. Fucking smiled.
He licked those teasing lips. “Harder?”
The turned-up corners of her mouth stretched wider.
As small as she was, he would’ve thought she’d be more fragile, breakable. Yet, his hands had been all over her miniature packs of muscle, and he knew her strongest spot. It could take a harder strike.
He captured her untied leg, hooked it around his waist, and used it to lift her ass away from the mattress. Target bared, he unleashed an open-handed swing.
That got him a burning palm and a twitch in her thigh. Damn, the tough little brat. He settled her on her back and rolled his hips between her legs. “I’m not anywhere close to doing it for you, am I?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m having sex with the only three-time winner of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. If that weren’t enough, I’m lying in a wet spot”—she wiggled her hips—”that proves you actually live up to every explicit rumor I’ve read about you.”
Motherfuck. She followed the gossip rags. “Charlee, you can’t believe the shit they write about me.”
“Can’t I? There are a holyfuckton of women crowing about your unapologetic fucking. They even named your famous positions.”
Oh Jesus, she knew about that. “Don’t—”
“The Limp Away From Jay Lay.”
A small smile touched her lips, but he didn’t miss the flatness in her tone. She was jealous. It shouldn’t have, but the notion gave him a selfish little thrill.
“Then there’s the Mayard Mount.” She stared at his chest, eyebrows drawn.
He hated that his depravity cluttered the Internet. All she had to do was open a browser and type his name. All the shit he’d done with those women would be shoved in her face, mocking her.
“The Hands-Free Blow Me.” She gave him a pitying look.
“I think I lost my hard-on.” He thrust his hips to remind her where his dick was.
“Oh, and I’m currently experiencing a fan favorite, right? The Rope Burn.” She twisted her wrists in the binds and glared at him.
Was she just being open with him or was she pissed? A string of ugly emotions tore through him. Leading the brigade was his regret over all the meaningless places he’d put his dick. Surely, she understood what he thought of those women?
He dropped his brow to hers. “I’m sorry, Charlee. I can give you some trite excuses about how those women meant nothing. I’d like to think you know me well enough to see that.” He lifted his hips to pull out of her.
Her leg around his waist stiffened. “Fuck me like you fucked them.”
Unease punched through him. He looked down into her electric, singular eyes, sparking blue with flecks of silver. She was singular. He’d never treat her like them. “Never.”
“I know I mean something different to you. I’m not asking you to think of me the way you think of them. God, I don’t think I could bear it if you did.” She sighed. “I built up this really high pain threshold. I had to.” Her eyes slid to the side. “And I just need you to not treat me so delicately.”
Oh Charlee. She thought if he treated her like those women, he’d be rougher with her? He scattered kisses over her eyelids, cheeks, and lips. “Don’t worry about your threshold. I’ll get past it.” He would research, figure out how to get creative. For now, he’d have to go with blunt strength.
It would’ve been easier to flip her over and spank her while fucking her doggie-style. No way was he going to come in her the first time without looking into the eyes he’d dreamt about for three years.
Lowering his weight on her chest, he shoved her knee against her shoulder and rammed into her. His thrusts, harder than he’d ever attempted with anyone, filled the room with the wet sound of skin smacking skin. Fuck, she felt good.
Her body clenched against the force of each lunge, and her eyes blinked rapidly. He kept his movements measured, determined not to give her more than she could handle.
The bed scooted until it hit the wall. The headboard rocked and creaked. And Charlee’s pleasure flowed out in an erotic stream of moans.
It was insane. Beautiful. Unbelievably arousing. And it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his load yet. He tried not to look at the toned lines of her pinned leg beneath his fingers. The dramatic curve of her waist. The way her tits jogged with the intensity of his thrusts.
“Come for me, Charlee.”
She nodded. At least he thought it was a nod. Her whole body was nodding beneath his driving hips.
“Hurry.” His voice was guttural and distant beneath the roar of blood in his ears. “I’m barely hanging on.”
Her arms writhed in the rope. “I want to touch you.”
Christ. Fuck. Never had he considered being touched during sex, but his heart leapt at the thought of Charlee’s hands on him.
It was a terrible idea. He slammed into her. “Would touching me help you come?”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. He didn’t think so.
“Come, Charlee. Come for me.” He shoved in and out, panting under the exertion, trembling against the overwhelming sensations.
She peered up through her lashes. “Okay.”
“You can touch me after…I…fuck you….to unconsciousness.” He punctuated the words with ram of his hips.
One of the bed posts hit the wall and dented the sheetrock. He reined in his enthusiasm.
“An after-sex cuddlier, huh?” Her voice was breathy and sexy as hell.
“Only with you.” He bit her raised chin. Bucked his hips. Slapped her thigh, one strike after the other. Sweat formed on his lip. The muscles in his biceps and legs burned. And the hot, tight vise of her pussy clamped down, moments from sucking him drying. “Come. Come, now.” He landed his heaviest whack high on her thigh.
Her yelp somersaulted into a long, arousing moan and blanketed his chest in hot exhales. She was so close. He vibrated with excitement.
“Look at me. I want to see you.”
Her eyes flew to his, glazed and seductive. He grabbed a nipple, twisted it. Her beautiful grunt caressed his face. This was it.
The pressure between his legs rose up, spread out through his groin, reaching, reaching. “Ahhhh. God. Fuuuuck. Charlee, I’m coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Everything narrowed to her and him and the unbelievable rush she was giving him. Breathe. Holy fuck, he needed to breathe.
On his way down, he shivered, twitching muscles he didn’t even know he had. Tingles swept over his skin and his body lay boneless on top of her. Oh shit. Too heavy. He lifted his weight and searched her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Did you come?”
She bit her lip and looked down and to the left.
Outrage restarted his triple-tempo pulse. “No? No, please don’t tell me no.”
She looked at him and glanced away again. “Okay.”
How the hell had he misjudged that? She must’ve thought he was the biggest prick. He sat back on his heels where he knelt between her legs and took a few calming breaths.
Okay. He could fix this.
The best orgasm of his life collected at the entrance of her pussy and dribbled down her outer lips. He’d never tasted himself before. Couldn’t be that bad. Hell, he’d never even gone down on a girl…well, while he was sober enough to remember it, anyway. But this was Charlee. Didn’t matter what he did with her, they’d figure it out and make it work.
He slid his hands under her ass and lifted her to meet his mouth.
“What are you doing?” Panic hitched her voice.
He was going to bite the hell out of her clit. “You’re going to come for me, Charlee. We’re not leaving this room till you do.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Then she dropped her head and said to the ceiling, “You need to shove something in my ass.”
“What?”
“Quick and effective,” she mumbled.
He lowered her hips, tried not to think about the she things she’d experienced to fuel such a request. His mind flashed to random phallic-shaped objects in his room. The handle of her hairbrush. The Mr. T bobble head on the mantle. The glass bong under his— Wait, he threw that out.
Jesus, what was he thinking? “I’m not sticking anything in your ass.” He cleared his throat. Maybe he should clarify. “Unless it’s made for your ass.” His dick would be a perfect fit…in an hour or so, if he could muster the stamina. “And I don’t keep butt-plugs lying around.”
“Let’s just call it a night. It’s nearly six in the morning.”
He had to be at the range in an hour. “Charlee, Please—”
“Huntress.” She yanked on the rope and glared at him.
His shoulders sagged. “You’re going to safe word just like that? You won’t give me another chance?” Christ, he’d fucked up. How could he expect her to want him if he couldn’t even give her an orgasm? “I can fix this.”
Stretched by the rope, she strained her arms and waited. She wouldn’t repeat the safe word. And she wouldn’t have to. Under the scrutiny of her eyes and with shame burning his face, he removed the rope, bundled it up, and returned it to the drawer.
Her back was to him when he crawled behind her and scooted against her until as much of her body was touching him as possible. While he was behaving like a selfish prick, he might as well take everything he wanted. And he wanted to hold her until she fell asleep.
He locked his arm around her waist. She let her hands lay limp so he could gather them and intertwine them with his against her chest. As her body sank with the weight of gravity and exhaustion, he pulled her closer, so close he could feel every twitch in her back, every beat of her heart.
“The Strong Box.” Her soft voice drifted through him.
“What’s the strong box?” He knew what one was, but he didn’t know what the strong box was.
“It’s a container, usually steel, in which valuables are kept safe.”
She was going somewhere with this. He waited.
“It’s also the name I’m giving my favorite Jay Mayard position. You know, the one where he wraps himself around his partner and makes her feel valuable and safe and a lot less broken. It’s not a famous or practiced position, but it’s all mine.”
He melted against her back, buried his nose in her hair, and tumbled just a little bit more in love with her. Fuck that. He plunged.
“All yours, Charlee.” Every. Single. Breath.
54
Disappointment rolled over Charlee when she woke the next morning. Alone in bed. A glance around confirmed an empty room. Nathan didn’t often leave her to wake alone, but when it happened, dread was always the initial reaction. Not this strange dejection.
Sunlight illuminated the stark sheets and the sheen of white paint coating the walls. The white marble floors accentuated the ethereal glow. So dang bright. She raised a hand over her eyes to shade from the glare.
Not that she minded the monochromy. It was just unexpected. So was Jay.
Her gaze lingered on the wall where he had leaned in the half-light of predawn, watching her while he pleasured himself. The erotic display would forever leave a warm imprint on her desire. He confused her thoughts about what she needed in bed and evoked a reckless hope for healing at his hands.
She didn’t know how to categorize him within the spectrum of her sexual history. Noah, her gentle, benevolent lover, had shown her devotion in patient touching. If her inability to orgasm had vexed him, he never expressed it.
On the other end, the violent blows from Roy had torn her down to such a weakened state, she couldn’t prevent him from taking. He stole orgasm after orgasm until her broken husk was wrung unconscious.
The half dozen Doms she had contractually approved intercourse with were simply therapeutic exercises—training for the possibility of someday having a real physical and emotional relationship.
Jay was a wild and unpredictable variable on the spectrum. He swung from tender to frustrated to caring to desperate. No matter how passionate his reactions—negative or positive—his concern for her remained steadfast.
Succumbing to the lull of sleep while sheltered in his arms had been one of the most gratifying experiences in memory. And this, right after he’d seen how terribly flawed she was. How gut-wrenching he blamed himself for not bringing her to orgasm when the truth was her perversity put them in the fucked up situation.
It proved he valued her. Maybe even loved her. Her response to that was immediate rejection, but her heart tripped over itself in wanting. What if she loved him? She thought about how she felt, bound beneath his solid body, absorbing his deep thrusts, his muscles contracting around her, his fingers bruising her ass. She’d found pleasure in the way he moved, the fire behind his kisses, the feel of him inside her. What if that was enough? Could she let go of her need and conditioning for pain?
A woman with low pain tolerance and a heart tied to another would never survive Roy. Regardless of how safe Jay made her feel, she couldn’t let herself forget she was one misstep away from recapture.
She flexed her sore muscles and rolled over to check the bedside clock. Just after ten. She’d only slept a few hours. Why the hell was Jay up already?
Sitting up, her hand brushed a scrap of white panties that were folded and placed on his pillow. One of the stringed sides tied around a piece of paper, which was rolled like a cigarette. Amusement tickled through her as she slipped it out and uncurled it.
Charlee,
Ain’t gonna lie. You look like a wet dream stretched out in my bed. Our bed. Leaving you this morning fucking sucks. But my errands couldn’t wait.
Your clothes are in the closet. Bathroom’s stocked. So is the kitchen. Explore your new home. If you need something and can’t find it, hunt down Faye.
*6 on the intercom system will connect you to my cell phone. Back around 11:00.
All yours,
J
She traced the closing words. All yours. It was crazy, the ache that sentiment stirred in her. Until that moment, she had never let herself want the kind of commitment he was offering.
He had his pick of the world’s female population. Just thinking about him with another woman forced her nails into her palms. If she weren’t careful, he’d soon have her heart. Shit. He might’ve already stolen it. A susceptibility that could bring far more devastation than Roy could’ve ever inflicted.
55
Charlee showered and readied for the day using more girly stuff than she’d seen since she was sixteen. Warming body wash. Hair products with names she couldn’t pronounce. A fancy razor that looked nothing like the disposable kind she shared with Nathan.
As for all the items she didn’t know what to do with—makeup, bronzers, hair clips, multi-step skin care products, curling irons in various shapes and sizes—she left those in their tidy little drawers.
The closet was even more overwhelming. Not the first time a wardrobe had been selected for her, but Roy had given her gowns and pant suits and dressy things she wasn’t even allowed to look at in her second captivity.
Jay’s closet was crammed with jeans, t-shirts, multi-pocket pants and big leather belts. Casual and sportive. If she had a style and preference, his shopper nailed it. The labels, though, implied price tags she would’ve never been able to afford.
She chose a faded pair of low rise jeans, a white Placebo t-shirt, the white panties he’d left on his pillow, and a matching bra. Anxious to explore, she opted to let her hair air dry and padded barefoot down the hall. Past the sitting room and through the double doors, she paused in the diamond-shaped foyer. The door to the room next to Jay’s suites opened.
Nathan stepped out, head down,
phone at his ear. “We need to let this sit, Crane. He’s our only eyes right now…Yeah…Yeah, she’s good, but fuck, man, this news is going to kill her…No way. I don’t keep shit from her, but with everything going on, I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the spotter…Yeah, all right. Keep me updated.”
News? Spotter? She bit her cheek. He’d tell her when he was ready.
Shutting the door, his gaze snapped up and his lips twitched. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Something was different about him. He still had that stiff Marine posture going on, but he was lighter on his feet. His shoulders were looser, his eyes bluer, brighter.
“You’re chipper this morning.” She bumped her arm into his as they walked. “Sleep well?”
He glanced back toward the room he’d just departed and fiddled with his phone. “Uh huh.” A smile fluttered through pinched lips as if he were trying to keep it from fully emerging. And why was he looking anywhere but at her?
“I didn’t know the guest room was so close.” Had he heard her moaning from Jay’s room?
He stopped and dropped his phone into his breast pocket. Staring at the wood floor, he rubbed his jaw and propped his hands on his hips. Uh-oh. His defensive stance.
He shifted his weight. “That isn’t a guest room.”
A laugh burst out of her. “You move fast, playboy.” She punched him in the shoulder.
“I’d take offense to that if I hadn’t heard you screaming at the wee hours of the morning.”
Jesus. She shouldn’t have been embarrassed, considering he’d seen and heard her at her absolute worst, but she couldn’t stop her cheeks from burning. “You heard?”
He grinned. “No, and thank God for that.”
“Fucker.” She aimed to punch him again, but he was expecting it that time and bounced out of the way.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a terrible thing to joke about…considering.”
A swell of sympathy curved his eyebrow and rounded his eyes. Thankfully, it wasn’t pity, but he’d never been one to pity her.