Beneath the Burn

by Pam Godwin

  Jay placed a hand on her head, sifting fingers through her satiny hair. Abuse and rape, the most potent case of nonconsensual power, was why she was there. Time to find out if he could give her the control she sought, in an authentic dungeon, under the watchful eyes of a professional.

  No pressure. He steadied his breath, relaxed his limbs, and sat on the edge of the low mattress. “Charlee. Come here. On your knees.”

  She crawled the distance to Jay, her eyes locked on his rising cock. As if her stare had cast a hardening spell, he swelled to full length.

  He skimmed a finger over her bottom lip. “What’s your safe word?”

  “Huntress.”

  “Suck me.” Imparting those words pumped determination through his veins and a throb to his groin.

  Kneeling between his legs and flattening her back, she circled her lips around him, flicking her tongue and sliding up and down in a slow rhythm. A tremor raced over his thighs and his breath caught. Fuck. Focus. He met Conrad’s eyes.

  Conrad shook out the whip, and the tail skated across the wood floor. “First lesson, Jay Mayard, is understanding the difference between good hurt and bad hurt.”

  Jay lay back on the mattress and gathered her hands on his chest, restraining them there. He understood bad hurt, knew it deeply, but he would listen and watch intently. He needed to give her the required pain without harming her. When Conrad finished his verbal instruction on how not to use a whip, he reared back his arm.

  Crack.

  Her gasp swathed his dick. He tilted his head and glimpsed a pink line blooming on the rise of her ass. The hurt she experiences is relative.

  Crack…crack.

  Her mouth glided over and under him, her breath steady, eyes closed. Fucking hell, she was magnificent. The cracks of the whip continued a steady pace as did the suction of her lips. A dozen or so strikes later and his orgasm was simmering, too fast, too soon.

  “Straddle me.” Jay sat forward, coughing to clear the thickness in his voice.

  She unfolded in a smooth rise and stood before him, gaze resting on his. Pushing her hands through his hair, she climbed onto his lap. Her face dipped, closer, closer, and he arched his neck to meet her lips.

  She parted her mouth and rolled her tongue with his. It wasn’t one of her blistering, fuck-me kisses that stole his breath and tightened his balls. Instead, her lips moved over his with apology and gratitude, so yielding and peaceful, his throat tightened and the backs of his eyes ached.

  When the kiss ended, he pulled her to his chest and they sat in silence, bodies molded together, neither of them making a move to loosen the embrace. Call him a man, but it was a treasured closeness, with his erection trapped between their bellies, her swollen nipples rubbing through his shirt.

  After a few shared breaths, he gripped her waist and raised her, working his fingers inside her. So fucking wet. He replaced his hand with the head of his cock and entered her, gazes fused in a helpless lock. Slowly, effortlessly, he slid her down to the hilt and her groan rivaled his.

  Arms hooked around her hips and ass, he held her immobile. “Master Conrad, can you strike her back in this position?”

  “Yes.” Conrad tagged a short rope from the wall. “If her hands are bound with yours behind you.”

  With a few practiced knots, Conrad shackled her wrists with Jay’s and secured them at the middle of his back.

  Jay sucked in a breath as Conrad’s hands moved over his wrists. No shed. No oven. Nothing but Charlee’s muscles sheathing his dick and the energy shifting between their joined bodies. He shuddered. The urge to thrust sent his molars crashing together. He was a pussy-clench away from ejaculating. “Hold still.”

  She closed her eyes and twisted her hands against his back until their fingers half-laced together. Her face glowed in the natural light of the room.

  “I love your eyelashes.” He smothered them with kisses. “So red. Why didn’t I notice that when you were blonde in St. Louis?”

  “Mascara.” Her lips twitched, and her eyes remained closed.

  Whack.

  Her eyes flew open, and she rose up on his cock. The tiny movement teased electric shocks down his legs. Over her shoulder, Conrad reared back a leather flogger.

  Whack. Whack. Whack.

  Jay moaned with her as her cunt contracted. He thrust again and again, bucking and grinding, their fingers clenching together and their mouths colliding. With each hit of the flogger, he moved faster, harder. Her breath sharpened, and her tongue slashed urgently with his.

  “Jay. Jaaaaay.” Her head fell back, and her body shuddered.

  The quake of her release stroked him into a mindless world of sensations, tearing his climax from him in violent waves. “Unnngh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m coming.”

  Floating down with noisy gasps for air, he dropped his head on her shoulder and savored the sweet aroma of her skin.

  She squeezed his fingers and pressed her lips to his ear. “Huntress.”

  He felt her message deep inside him. She’d gained what she sought without abusing her safe word. His happiness demanded he kiss her. So he did, thoroughly.

  Conrad knelt behind him and unlaced the rope. “We’re scheduled for another hour. I can show you some things to take on the road.”

  “Thanks, yeah, let’s do it.” Jay didn’t try to mute his post-coital grin. “But don’t expect me to remember your name in the morning.”

  Charlee’s laugh burst through him, split open his heart, and filled it with light.

  88

  Charlee huddled against Jay in the crowded corridor of Conrad’s apartment building. Eight or nine bodyguards cocooned them, blocking her ability to see the front door and the street beyond. She caught Nathan’s vigilant gaze where he stood beside her and offered him a smile.

  He returned it. “The buses have been making laps around the city for the last hour, waiting for you to emerge. They’ll be here any second.”

  Her cheeks heated. She’d been so wrapped up in Jay, so eager to watch him take charge in the dungeon, she hadn’t considered the dozens of people waiting for them.

  Jay raised her chin with a knuckle. “Don’t worry about them. They have a fucktillion ways to entertain themselves. Rockstars, remember?”

  “What about your schedule?”

  “What schedule? We don’t have a tour manager anymore.”

  Ugh. Thank fuck for that. She wasn’t sure what her expression held, but his blazed with his smile. “Faye will manage all that. For now, we have the next couple days off.”

  Behind him, Tony dropped her hand from her ear and hovered it above his arm. The morning after the tattoo, he’d given her leave to touch him, but she still practiced caution. When he nodded, she gripped his elbow and stepped into his side. “Buses just rolled up. Perimeter’s clear. Ready?”

  He patted his left shoulder with his right hand, his visual cue.

  “Principals are Oscar Mike,” Tony said into the mic on her headset.

  With a collective heave, the entire hallway filed through the door and spread into formations over the front lawn. Suit-clad shoulders crowded Charlee’s view, but the rumble of the buses and Jay’s arm around her waist guided her.

  Yellowed grass and brick sidewalks blurred beneath her Doc Martens, the humid air abuzz with the distant chatter of onlookers.

  “Jay! Jay Mayard! Over here. I want an autograph.” The voices carried from the street. From behind the buses maybe?

  The entourage and motorcade must have drawn the crowd, but how had they glimpsed Jay buried in the fold of the security team? Or was Roy behind this?

  Her boots hit the curb and she followed Nathan onto the bus. Colson smiled from the driver’s seat. “Welcome back, Miss Grosky.”

  “Thanks, Colson.” Her heart calmed to a normal pace as she left Nathan at the front and turned into the aisle.

  The guys reclined on the couches in various positions and states of undress. The black hair of a woman’s head bobbed between Rio’s legs. A
nother woman ate at his mouth. Beside him, two blondes sandwiched Laz in a naked, writhing tango.

  On the opposite couch, Wil tossed a pair of briefs over his naked lap and tipped back a beer in a long draw. “Hey, Charlee. Did Jay grovel enough?”

  She smiled. “No groveling needed.”

  The bathroom door opened, and a brunette swayed out, nude and smiling. Her gaze shifted from Charlee to beyond Charlee’s shoulder, and her smile widened. “Oh. My. God. It’s Jay Mount-Me Mayard!” She bounced up and down, as did her tits.

  Charlee shook her head, lips curving up, and moved down the aisle toward the galley. Jay pressed against her back, arms hooked around her belly, breath hot on her neck.

  Poor guy was probably terrified one of the girls might touch him, and not for the reasons he’d once had. He didn’t need to worry. The fact that he’d tracked her down and accepted her sexuality in the dungeon was a comfort no one had ever shown her. His commitment and loyalty had restored her trust in him.

  She twisted her neck and kissed his pinched lips. “Fucktillion ways to entertain themselves? I’m just now getting the meaning of that.” Wasn’t the first time groupies came aboard the bus, but the orgies were usually contained to the hotel rooms. She kissed him again until his lips relaxed and parted. “See anyone you know?” She didn’t want the answer to that, but the question tumbled out unbidden.

  His eyes widened, and he croaked, “No, Charlee. God, I’m not…”

  “Jay Mount-Me Mayard? I’ve got two hours in a dungeon that proves the mounting.”

  The engine purred, and the bus rolled into traffic. Nathan exchanged a few words with Colson and stood at the center of the lounge, hands on his hips. “All right, ladies. The fuckateria is closed for the night. We’re dropping you back at the hotel. You can catch cabs from there.”

  Moans volleyed back. A pair of fuchsia panties landed on his chest and dropped to the aisle.

  Chuckling, Charlee rifled through the fridge and removed lunchmeat and condiments. “Hard salami sandwich, baby?”

  A smile pulled the tightness from his lips. “You don’t need to wait on me.” Jay uncurled his body from hers and tugged the wrap of meat from her hands. By the time he devoured his second sandwich, the bus was pulling away from the hotel, leaving behind the smiling, sated groupies.

  Sitting at the foldout table in the galley, he inhaled the last bite and rubbed his stomach, exposing a band of golden skin in the process. Her fingers itched to feel the muscle beneath. She crawled over the seat beside him, ducked her head, and bit him above the belt buckle.

  His hands flew to her head and his abs rippled against her lips. “Keep doing that, and I’m going to take you right here on the table.”

  Footsteps approached behind her, and Jay covered his eyes, groaning. She glanced over her shoulder and exploded in laughter.

  Laz bent at the waist and dug through the galley cabinet, clad in a too-tight gold thong.

  “Jesus, man.” Jay’s forehead hit the table top. “We talked about this. No grape-smugglers.”

  Unscrewing a jar of peanut butter, Laz looked over his shoulder and tugged the gold strip from the clench of his ass. “What’s wrong with the rockstrap?”

  “Rockstrap?” Charlee’s amusement shriveled as he reached his thong-tugging hand toward the open jar of peanut butter. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. He plunged his fingers inside. “Put your name on that jar. It’s all yours.”

  He narrowed his eyes at his snack and shrugged. “I don’t know how Jay rocks with his cock on the loose. The rockstrap—” he snapped the string on his hip “—keeps the twig and giggles from bobbing and chafing on stage.”

  Jay raised his head. “Did your parents have any children that lived?”

  Lifting a glob of peanut butter to his mouth, Laz swirled his tongue over his fingers in a disturbingly erotic fashion. “You know, Jay, I was so miserable without you on the bus today, it was almost like having you here.”

  And so the barbs continued for the rest of the day and however many miles through Louisiana and Mississippi. Laz modeled his collection of rockstraps, Wil and Rio played video games, and Nathan and Tony drifted into the back lounge.

  Jay led her to their cozy bunk where he described the beaches he would take her to and the cabin in the Canadian Boundary Waters that he would transform to accommodate a BDSM dungeon.

  For the duration of the tour, however, their quad-axle home was her icon of security. There were no untrustworthy staff members. No automation systems to hack. No concealed corners where Craigs could hide in wait.

  But as the next venue grew closer, anxiety built in her belly. Nathan and Faye worked a legal offense against Roy, using Ella as fuel, and what they found was an all too common story. Ella met Roy once while he dined at the restaurant she worked at. Her payment was delivered in cash by a third party. Nothing connected her to Roy. Her word against his.

  A dead-end prosecution was the lawful approach. Follow the legal system, let justice take him down.

  Justice. What an anemic concept. Charlee could do better than that.

  Death was a sure way to end it. Just put her close enough. She wouldn’t hesitate to shoot next time. No question, she would welcome her own death before she let Roy drag her back to San Francisco. The thought both eased and terrified her.

  Rocking with the sway of the bus in the protection of Jay’s embrace, she drifted to the places he’d talked about, but the destination didn’t matter. He was where she wanted to be. “Do you think your triggers are gone for good?”

  Lying beneath her, his chest rose and fell through a sigh. “I don’t know, but for the first time in memory, I want people to touch me.” His eyes softened. “You gave me that. Thank you.”

  Her heart soared. She was so damned proud of him. “Thank you for today. I know the scene isn’t your thing. You gave me that, and wow, Jay. You make a sexy dungeon Dom.”

  Arching up, his lips found hers. He kissed her sensuously, his tongue licking and swirling inside her mouth. It tingled over her face, down her spine, and curled her toes.

  She pulled up and smiled. “You’ve never had a massage, have you?”

  “No, baby.”

  “Roll over and take off your shirt.”

  A pause. “Can you do it with the shirt on? In case someone pokes their head in?”

  She pushed down the impatience bubbling up inside her and bit his lip playfully. “One of these days, Jay Mayard, you will wear those scars with pride.”

  Starting on his pecs, she kneaded over the bumps and valleys, working her way to the sinews connecting his neck and shoulders. He grinned and moaned and dug his fingers into her ass. As she ground her knuckles, the weight of the day pressed down and her body slumped closer and closer toward his. She stared into his golden-brown eyes until his eyelids drooped and hers soon followed.

  89

  A hollow reverberation woke Charlee. She jerked upright and banged her head on the bunk’s ceiling. “Ow, shit. What was that?”

  Jay untangled their limbs, rolled off her and thudded into the aisle.

  Feet pounded through the bus accompanied by Tony’s shout. “Delta team’s transport is down.”

  What? One of the Suburbans? Charlee’s muscles locked up.

  Pop….Pop.

  “Alpha and Bravo down,” Tony barked. “I repeat. Three Suburbans are disabled.” Multiple footfalls filled the front and rear of the cabin.

  Terror gripped Charlee’s insides and a shiver chased her spine. “Jay?” She jumped into the aisle. “Jay, was that a gun?”

  Pop.

  “Echo team down. We’re on our own.”

  “Charlee!” Jay shoved the drape aside, his expression tight. “Charlee, get on the floor. Cover your head.” The white of his eyes glowed in the dim light.

  She dropped to her knees and choked, “You better get down here with me.”

  Pop.

  The brakes squealed, and the force of the stop threw him into the front of the bus,
beyond the fall of the drape. Her head slammed into the frame of the bunk. She rubbed at the throb and climbed to her feet only to drop again with an onslaught of dizziness.

  “.50 cal shots. Engine blocks targeted.” Tony’s shout ripped through the sudden hush. “Colson, are we hit?”

  “Affirmative. Engine block.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tony’s tone pitched. “Set up the perimeter. We need to get off this goddamn bus.”

  Charlee’s heart hammered, and her pulse screamed through her veins. Get off the bus? She knew they were sitting ducks, but how many Craigs would be waiting for them to pile onto the road? Was there traffic? Maybe someone could help them.

  “Faye has 911 on the phone,” Nathan said from somewhere up front. “Where are the shooters?”

  “A thousand meters. Could be more. That ridge, maybe,” Tony said through a rushed breath.

  Thank fuck for their headsets. Charlee put all her faith in the communication and organization of the protective team.

  A strong fiery smell tickled her nose. She moved toward the drape as Jay shot through it, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into a wall of smoke.

  She coughed, blinked through the haze. “Fire?” How would his triggers react? He seemed calm enough, in control.

  “Engine’s smoking. I don’t know.” He pushed forward along the aisle, and the white cloud enveloped him. He was only an arm’s length away, and she couldn’t fucking see him.

  “Jay! The gun. We need the gun.”

  “I’ve got it.” His voice was hoarse, breathless. No oxygen. Too much smoke. “Pull your shirt—” He hacked, wheezed. “Over your mouth. Eyes closed.”

  Wetness blurred and stung her eyes. The burn from the smoke forced so much saliva into her mouth she had to spit it out. She yanked the collar of her shirt up to her eyes, buried her face in the thin material, and let him guide her.