Beneath the Burn

by Pam Godwin

  “Mr. Munt.” Silence. “Keep me updated.” He lowered the phone, lips taut, jaw squared. “The spotter isn’t answering his phone, but this isn’t unusual given his position at the penthouse. Munt put a call into the private company that employs him to get a warning to his family. He’ll call back.”

  She frowned. “See what Crane and the rest of your guys can make of the letter.” Laying her head back, she touched Jay’s knee, lingered there for a moment, and returned her hand to her lap.

  Was she testing his trigger? Touching him for comfort? Did it matter? Her caress left behind a tingle that swept through his bloodstream and invigorated him with purpose. He had a lot of self-improvement to do.

  65

  The SUV passed through the gate of the band’s estate and parked in the garage. Jay glued himself to Charlee’s side and stumbled when she veered in the opposite direction of the interior door.

  He wanted to reach out and grab her, but opted for patience. “Where are you going?”

  As the guards moved inside, the click of her heels followed her to the back wall where the utility boxes and carpentry tools lined shelves and cabinets. She rooted through the drawers until she found a palm sander.

  “Charlee, talk to me.”

  She handed him the sander and a sheet of sandpaper and moved to the workbench.

  He turned it in his hands, unease trickling through him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “You’ll see.” She opened a metal box. “Oh! This is perfect.”

  A bundle of rubber-insulated wire flew toward him.

  He caught it, surprised by the heavy weight. “Electrical cable?” Did she plan to hook his dick to a generator and fry it off?

  She scanned the garage, chewing on a nail, lifting up and down on the balls of her feet. Given the horrible events of the night, she seemed a little too excited about whatever was going through that gorgeous head of hers.

  Realization sucked the blood from his face. She wasn’t looking for tools to torture him with. They were for her. A sickening amount of panic gripped his gut. “You want me to hurt you.” His certainty was thick and strangled.

  She yanked something from a bin of gardening tools, turned toward him, and held out a bamboo plant pole. “Yes.”

  They stared at one another with that menacing pole raised between them. She didn’t tell him he owed her this. It flared from her stony unblinking eyes.

  His heart pummeled against his ribs. She didn’t want to scream at him or kick his ass. She didn’t want to walk out and never see him again. She wanted him to man the fuck up and be her Dom.

  Big breath. Another. He nodded. A jerky movement. “Okay.”

  She lowered the pole. “Okay?”

  “I’ll give you whatever you need.” He held out the sander and cable. “But electric shock, Charlee? I’ll fucking kill you.”

  She let out a soft huff and shook her head slowly, lips twitching. “Percussion play. Electric shock won’t be necessary.”

  “Percussion?” The image of her strapped over Rio’s drum kit inappropriately tumbled into his head.

  She breezed past him in the direction of the interior door, twirling the garden pole like a baton. “Impact. Flogs. Whips. Percussion.”

  Jesus. “Charlee. Wait. Just…stop a second and talk to me.”

  Her hand was on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn it. Nor did she turn to face him.

  “Look at me.”

  Her chin moved, perched on her shoulder and she glared at him. It was a defiant glare, coloring her cheeks and brightening her eyes. And fuck him, but it looked good on her.

  “This is what you want?” He raised the devices that guaranteed nightmares in his near future.

  Her stubborn chin tipped up and down.

  “I know how this works. Limits are set on both sides, right?”

  The muscles in her cheeks flexed.

  He set the sander on the nearest cabinet. “Power tools are one of my limits.” He held up the sheet of sandpaper to show her he still had it.

  She looked at the sandpaper, at the sander, back at the sandpaper. “You better know how to use that.”

  He nodded. He didn’t have a fucking clue.

  66

  Charlee sent Jay to his room with an emasculative point of her finger. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate him groaning over her shoulder as she dug through the kitchen drawers.

  Tooth picks, chopsticks and saran wrap? He would’ve given her points for creativity, but she’d already maxed out her quota in the garage. He tried not to imagine what room she might’ve been rummaging through at the moment.

  She behaved as if she held the power over what was about to happen. A perception he would soon rectify.

  In his closet, he shed everything but the leather pants, leaving the top button. Rolling back his shoulders, he lengthened his neck and spine and cycled through several deep breaths. Bringing to mind everything he’d learned in his BDSM research on the Internet, he gave himself a pep talk.

  He could do this. He would do anything for Charlee. He definitely could…Holy motherfuck. He couldn’t wuss out now. For the next however many hours, the right mindset would be the key to unlocking her.

  Control. Roy abused her with it in a slave role she never agreed to. Consensual control in the bedroom was another matter. To administer the pain she desired, Jay needed to take her in hand. And no more cringing at percussion tools like a bitchboy.

  He lifted the thickest leather belt from his rack, folded it, and whacked his thigh. His quadriceps jerked through the sting. Might not compare to the crack of an electrical cable, but he needed to start off with something a little more…conventional.

  Striding through the bedroom, he opened the desk drawer and collected four metal finger picks for an old banjo he sometimes messed around with. He slid one on the tip of his index finger and scratched it down his arm. A smile pulled at his lips.

  He grabbed the three black bags by the door and dumped the contents on the bed. The exclusive sex shop owner had been overly helpful that morning. Her flirting was as ineffective as her perfume, but she was a well-known masochist in L.A. and her advice lifted some of the veil from Charlee’s sexual mystique.

  Not only did it lift it, her explanations made sense of it, normalized it. Charlee was no different than so many others. Pain simply unlocked the core of her desire.

  Which brought him back to the importance of mindset. The focus was her pleasure. He could probably just beat the ever-loving shit out of her, and she’d find release through her twisted conditioning. He’d rather massage away the taint Roy left on her primal core by giving her pain through devotion and respect.

  The fact that Jay would have this privilege was ludicrous after the shit he put her through that night. All the more reason he needed to assume the role and prove to her he could be the man who was valuable enough to dominate and worship her.

  From the pile of purchases, he separated a butt plug, lube, nipple clamps and a Hitachi wand. The rest went back in the bags and into the closet.

  The door to the bedroom clicked open behind him, and his heart thumped wildly. Go time.

  He pivoted toward her, slowly and methodically, relaxing his shoulders, issuing his breath from his diaphragm, and holding his head high. “Go to the bathroom and clean your pussy. You have five minutes.”

  Eyes wide as saucers, she lowered her arms and clutched her loot to her stomach. One of Rio’s drumsticks, a bucket of ice, an ice pick, a cheese grater, and some root thing that looked like she’d just dug up from the backyard filled her hands.

  Holding his neck straight and relaxing his eyelids, he waited.

  She didn’t waste words asking him if he was sure. Maybe she saw the certainty in his eyes.

  She scampered toward the bed and dropped her findings next to the sandpaper, cable, and bamboo pole. A glimpse at the things he’d collected made her lips flicker up. Then she scurried to the bathroom.

  He let out a breath. Wa
shing her cunt wasn’t necessary. He liked knowing traces of his come were between her legs, even if his behavior would forever mar that memory. But he needed to set the tone and give her something to do while he prepared.

  In short order, the household pervertables were lined up on the desk, and his rope was tied to the bedframe. He wrapped the sandpaper around the end of the belt strap and used the ice pick to punch holes in the scratchy paper where the belt holes lay beneath. With guitar string from his desk, he knitted the paper to the belt through the holes and secured it together.

  The water tap shut off followed by soft footfalls. She appeared in the archway of the bathroom, and he settled into a tremble that tightened his body. He breathed through it and let it ripple away.

  Gloriously naked, she stood with her head down and her hands at her sides. Flawless white skin, outrageous dips in her waist, the flare of her hips, and the auburn tuft between her legs.

  Good night, she was formed perfectly. His knees wobbled. He locked them and used his most commanding voice. “Raise your head.”

  She did, instantly, but it took longer for her eyes to follow. Her gaze inspected the floor in front of him, tarried over the space beside his hip. Finally, she met his eyes.

  “Don’t ever lower your eyes. Hold your head high, Charlee. We clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Was that what she wanted? To address him as some superior asshole while they played? He wasn’t a sexed-up Sir or Master, and he most definitely wasn’t Roy. But he’d read up on all the lingo and knew the designation was part of the atmosphere.

  Her eyes dropped and flew back up. Good girl.

  “One more thing. What’s your safe word?” He knew what it was, needed her to say it so they were both clear.

  “Huntress. Not that it matters.” An angry fire lit up her eyes.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Seeing how you ignored it last time, not sure why we’re even discussing it.”

  Last time…last time….When did he ignore— His equilibrium abandoned him, and he grabbed the edge of the desk. “Oh no, oh God. Please tell me I—”

  “Didn’t shoot your doped-up come inside me after I used my safe word?”

  His stomach dropped, and he scrambled for the right words. He couldn’t find any, because they didn’t exist.

  “Forget it.” She pushed back her shoulders and thrust out her tits. Facing the world’s biggest douche-bag while nude would’ve made a common person cringe. Not this amazing woman.

  “You were high, and while it’s a sad excuse, here I am.” She waved a hand at the rope stretched over the mattress. “I either trust you with this on some subconscious level or I’m recklessly vindictive.”

  “You’re not vindictive or reckless.”

  “Really? Because I know you don’t want to do this, and, for whatever fucked-up reason, that just turns me on more. Even if it’s just a two-second moment of escape, I want my damn orgasm. Don’t make me regret it.”

  There it was. An opportunity he didn’t deserve and one muddied with all kinds of bitterness. But he’d take it. “I’ll earn back your trust, Charlee.”

  He loosened out his arms, legs, and chest, spreading out to fill the space he occupied. Face muscles slack. Steady gaze. Deep breath all the way down to his balls. “Get on the bed.”

  67

  Long, toned limbs stretched in an X on Jay’s bed, his most perverted fantasy come to life. Even face down, Charlee made a picture that inspired men to fight, live, and write music. And he was about to mark it up. His mind revolted against the idea, but his cock throbbed in readiness.

  Metal guitar picks tipped his fingers. Dragging his eyes away from the mouth-watering apex of her legs, he crawled up her legs and straddled her hips. Leaning over her back, he dug the tapered ends into her shoulder.

  She arched as much as the rope allowed and released a soundless gasp. He raked the points down her back, not breaking skin but hard enough to leave four grooved trails. Over and over, he etched red lines on her back and sides.

  When she wiggled her ass, his dick jerked. He frustrated them both and skipped over her bottom, knelt beside her, and scratched her thighs and calves.

  Once her lower half was as drawn up as her back, he sat on his heels and admired his work. Blistered lines crisscrossed her body from neck to feet, leaving the globes of her ass as white as the sheets. Perspiration dotted her arms and spine. Fiery hair cascaded in shiny waves from her profile, her mouth open but silent.

  “Fucking beautiful.”

  She closed her eyes and her mouth, and smiled. Rosy lips and glowing cheeks, her contentment was blinding.

  He climbed up her body, pushed his metal-tipped fingers through her thick mane, and dug them into her scalp. “I see your light.” He brushed his lips over the healing gash in her earlobe. “Let it burn bright, Charlee.”

  “Mmm.” Her eyes cracked open. “Tease.”

  “Complaining already?

  Another smile. Hell yeah, his kinky girl liked it. He fastened his mouth over the welts on her shoulder, sucking and flicking with his tongue. Then he moved to the other scratches, giving them the same attention.

  “Ah God, that feels good.” She lifted her torso and pressed it against his mouth.

  He grabbed her ass with the metal claws and squeezed. Her gasp had voice that time. A breathy grunt.

  The creases around her eyes were peaceful not distressed. Good. Time to move on. He jumped off the bed.

  Ginger root. That was what she’d carted in. With one end shaved down into the shape of a fat finger, there was no question about its purpose.

  “I bought a butt plug this morning.” He ripped open the package and set the plug beside her hip. “We don’t need to improvise.”

  “The ginger is for figging. It’s better.” She twisted her neck, blinking up at him, and must have read the disbelief in his expression. “Burns like a sonabitch.”

  He cringed, even as he forced a bored look on his face.

  “Use both. Double penetration.”

  A formidable rock landed in his stomach. He refused to grip his gut like a squeamish chump, so he mentally chanted. I am relaxed. I am in control. It’s all for her. He rolled the affirmation over and over in his head until the rock disintegrated and his fingers hung loosely at his sides.

  He tagged the lube from the desk.

  “Don’t need that.” She looked over her shoulder at him and raised her ass. “Just shove her home, Jay.”

  Tempting. Not. Anal penetration might’ve been uncharted territory for him, but he knew that shoving anything in there was not safe. “Charlee, would you please just lay there—” he blew out a dramatic breath and tossed the lube over his shoulder “—and shut the fuck up.”

  She threw back her head and let out belly-deep laugh. It was the sound of fucking music, and he couldn’t stop himself from launching onto the bed, grabbing her face, and turning her head to stare into her eyes.

  How could she look at him, let alone laugh with him? He’d used drugs when he told her he wouldn’t. He fucked her shamefully in public. Add to that the threat of Roy, who was out there planning her next enslavement. Through all of that, she didn’t castrate Jay or throw a spectacular fit. She didn’t cower in a fetal position. Instead, she confronted him with balls of steel and laughed while tied and exposed on his bed.

  Laying on his side next to her, faces inches apart, his heart brimmed to bursting. “I fucking love you. I don’t deserve to love you, but I will spend the rest of my life earning that right. You are my music, do you understand?”

  Her eyes blinked furiously in the frame of his hands. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He dipped his head and kissed her. His mouth moving over hers and their tongues coiling and whipping, he fed her his breath, his love, his promise to make her happy.

  When they broke apart, her lips were swollen and wet, her eyes half-lidded.

  “So damn beautiful.”

  She grinned.
“So you’ve said.”

  Perched on his elbow, stretched alongside her body, he’d say it again and again until she tired of hearing it. He wanted to wrap around her and bury his face in her hair. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So fucking bea—”

  “All right, Casanova. Enough.”

  He could feel himself sinking into the mattress. The longer he lay there, the heavier his limbs became. He rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Focus. He still owed her an orgasm, and he wouldn’t face plant until she had it.

  68

  Charlee missed the heat of Jay’s body the second he left the bed. Boy, he was full of surprises.

  He loved her. It was one thing to suspect, but to hear it vocalized with such vehemence made her insides soften into squishy, girly goo. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still furious—

  Crack.

  Her ass cheek smarted under a sensational burn. She twisted, looked over her shoulder.

  A metal buckle wrapped around his hand as he reared back the modified belt. Not what she had in mind for the sandpaper, but damn brilliant.

  Crack.

  “Unngh. Jesus.” The other cheek pulsed in time with the first. Liquid heat gushed to her pussy. “Again.”

  The belt clattered to the floor, and she buried her face in the mattress. “You suck.”

  “As you wish.” His hands slid over her inflamed cheeks, spread them, and his mouth sealed over her folds, sucking and licking.

  The bedding bunched in her curling fingers where her arms were stretched, tied down near the headboard. He went after her clit with probing fingers as his tongue delved in and out and along her labium. Her insecurity over her scars drifted away under his affection.

  The wet slurp of his saliva and her arousal layered the air. After his metal fingered foreplay, the lingering burn on her ass, and his demanding tongue, the climb toward orgasm dangled, a distant promise, but a promise nonetheless.

  His mouth disappeared, and hard rubber pressed against the pucker of her ass. “How long has it been, Charlee?” He nudged it against her, not inserting, just a pressing threat.