Deviant

by Gemma James

  One, two, three, four…

  Rafe shoved it in my ass.

  “Owww!” I screeched, eyes watering from the rough entry. The plug was cool at first, but after a couple of minutes…

  Oh God, fucking God almighty…when that thing heated up…unbearable.

  “Take it out! Please, Rafe! Please, please, please…”

  “Clench and hold until I tell you to stop.”

  “No!”

  He smacked my ass, and I contracted around the plug then immediately relaxed my muscles to escape the amped intensity.

  Oh God. How would I get through this?

  “Babe, last warning.”

  Outright sobbing, I clenched and didn’t let go this time. A wave of nausea hit me, and for a few seconds I worried about soiling the bedding.

  The nausea subsided, but the liquid fire in my ass didn’t.

  Rafe’s zipper sounded, followed by the rustle of denim. He palmed my ass, fingers kneading flesh, rubbing my cheeks together around the base of the ginger plug. His rough manhandling intensified the pain, making it intolerable, and I let out an animalistic howl.

  He positioned the head of his cock at my pussy. “Unclench.”

  Panting through my mouth, I relaxed into him and focused on the metal bars of the headboard, counting each one, but as soon as he thrust inside me, the headboard became a blur—nothing but a pain-filled abstract existence of shadows and shapes.

  And a dizzying contradiction of pain and pleasure.

  His cock had never felt so good, but the hotter the ginger amped, the less pleasure I derived from the plunder of his shaft.

  He hissed in a breath. “Fuck, baby. So damn good. I might have to fuck your mouth for a while to take the edge off.”

  My gaze landed on the abandoned knife. He’d carved three pieces, and he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t intend to use them all.

  His thick cock sank between my folds, then he pulled out to the tip before shoving in again, each deep thrust a slow dance of torture. This wasn’t the tempo he used when he wanted to come.

  This was him holding off his orgasm.

  Because he had two more pieces to get through first.

  I was fucked.

  19. No Mercy - Rafe

  What an erotic show, watching my cock sink inside her body as I palmed her ass. There was nothing unusual about fucking her, but everything surrounding the act heightened it.

  The ginger protruding from her ass as my shaft disappeared beneath the piece. The opposing sensations I unleashed on her—her pussy filled with the privilege of my cock as her backdoor burned. And my hands on her sexy behind, kneading her flesh against the ginger.

  With each thrust, I dug my fingertips into her cheeks a little more, bringing about an involuntary ass-clenching.

  Our bodies slapped together, thigh to thigh, groin to ass. Unable to control the contraction of muscle, she grunted every time I plundered her wet cunt. She was slowly sinking into the mattress, seeking respite from my brutal assault.

  She’d find none. I grabbed her by the hips and slammed into her with more force.

  “Ahhhh!”

  “Hurts, does it?”

  “Yes!”

  “The stupid stunt you pulled this morning ripped me apart, Alex.”

  “I’m sorry.” She muffled her sobs into the bedding, and I smacked her ass.

  “I want to hear you. If you’re gonna cry, don’t hide it.”

  “Please, Rafe. No more.”

  “We’ve still got two more pieces, sweetheart.”

  She sobbed again, her shoulders shaking from the power of her despair.

  “Remember this pain the next time you even think of running off like that again.”

  She didn’t reply, but I knew this experience would stay with her. As much as punishing her like this got me off, I didn’t want to have to do it again.

  Not like this—as a result of reckless behavior. If I ever used ginger on her again, I wanted her to give me the gift of it, in spite of the pain it caused her.

  My balls tightened, and the pressure in my dick almost reached the breaking point. I pulled out before I came, then I crawled onto the mattress and kneeled in front of her, the crown of my dripping cock aimed at her lips.

  “Suck me.”

  She was such a good girl, opening her mouth and letting me push inside, that I almost went soft on her.

  But that’s what got us here to begin with.

  “Clench and hold.”

  She released a groan of pain as I tangled a hand in her hair. Angling her head back, I slipped between her lips in lazy thrusts—just enough to keep her mouth busy without dragging an orgasm from me.

  Because when I finally came, I wanted to do it inside her ass.

  Her tortured, tender, tantalizing ass.

  Her gorgeous red ass.

  I grunted at the thought, and she let out an answering moan around my cock.

  “Are you still clenching, babe?”

  With another moan, she nodded.

  Moaning meant pleasure. Moaning meant the fire in her backdoor had simmered to a tolerable level, and she was getting too excited from sucking me.

  “Time for round two?”

  Her eyes widened, those jade orbs bright with the threat of fresh tears. As I withdrew from her mouth, the heat in her gaze dimmed.

  Acceptance kicked into gear.

  I had to give her props; she didn’t protest once as I switched out the ginger plug with a new one. I sank inside her soaked cunt and stilled, gliding a palm down her spine as I waited for the burn to return. She whimpered, and my dick twitched inside her, eager to claim her once more.

  “Is it getting hot?”

  “Oh God! It’s too hot!” She unclasped her hands from the small of her back and pushed against the mattress, as if to crawl away.

  “I didn’t give you permission to move.” I shoved her to the bed again and trapped her wrists inside my fist.

  “It burns!”

  “I know, baby. It’s supposed to.”

  Better her ass blaze than to find her dead somewhere from her father’s hand.

  Or Zach’s.

  My breath hitched as the helplessness I’d felt this morning held me in despair, captive to the fear that I’d never see her again. Overcome, I blinked rapidly. The only tears I wanted were hers.

  “I hope the pain is intolerable, Alex. I hope like hell it’ll make you think twice next time.” I withdrew then slammed into her cunt, balls slapping her clit.

  She hissed in a breath.

  “Are you going to disobey me again?”

  “No!” She gasped, panted, tensed.

  And that was a mistake.

  Her answering howl told me the second piece was doing its job, that devious plug getting hotter every time she flexed the muscles in her ass.

  The faster I thrust into her, the more she tensed and sobbed. “Fuck, babe. I’m so damn close.” I squeezed her wrists, teetering on the edge of no return.

  I wasn’t ready, but I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled out the ginger, spit into the crack of her ass, and pushed inside her tight, tender space.

  She screamed.

  But mercy was on her side. With a final plunge, I released all of my pent up stress and rage. The anger and fear seeped from my bones as I shot my seed inside her, groaning long and hard as I came.

  She was groaning too, her voice cracking from the pain. Despite how much I was hurting her, she still responded with the need to come by arching against me. Her body begged for the good kind of pain, and I wondered if she even realized it.

  “Stop,” she gasped. “No more.”

  “No more ginger, or no more fucking you?”

  “Both.”

  “What if I let you come?”

  “You won’t,” she said, breaths puffing off her lips in erratic gasps.

  “You know me so well.” Stepping back, I let go of her hands, pleased when she kept them right where I wanted them. “So you know you
’re getting the third piece.”

  I reached for the last plug, and she cringed as the water sloshed over the top of the bowl. “I’m going to take a shower,” I said, pushing the ginger into her anus, “and you’re going to stay right where you are. Aren’t you, babe.” It was more of a statement, but I still expected an answer. When she failed to reply, I smacked her ass, making her jump and screech.

  “Ahhh! I won’t move,” she huffed.

  “That’s my girl.” Leaning down, I kissed her on the cheek then headed for the shower.

  20. Grounded - Alex

  Ginger was excruciating, medieval torture, the kind of harsh punishment only a masochist could endure. The type of kinky fuckery only a sadist could enjoy delivering.

  Rafe and I fell somewhere in between, neither sadist nor masochist. We were morally bankrupt, psychologically unhinged, unconditionally obsessed.

  As far as punishments went, his version of emotional exile was worse.

  For the past five days, Rafe left me chained to the bed, only letting me free long enough to bathe. He brought in my meals three times a day, left reading material to fight off boredom, but he refused to spend any time with me, or even sleep at my side. He’d basically grounded me to my room.

  But that didn’t stop him from fucking me whenever he wanted—I just wasn’t allowed to come.

  I’d take the ginger any day over this.

  Allowing him to claim ownership over me was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever done. It was a decision I regretted now as I strolled about my prison, chain following me around the room, a constant reminder of this hell.

  It was a peaceful hell. Yesterday, he fixed the window, and I’d opened it first thing, feeling a little like Cinderella as I listened to the birds and other wildlife, imagining they were my friends. A soft breeze filtered in, billowing the curtains.

  The seclusion was driving me mad, not to mention the boredom. I constantly fought the urge to throw shit, to lash out with the type of tantrum that would get his attention—because I craved that more than anything—but bringing on more of his wrath was a stupid idea. I’d done this to myself, had scared him into this merciless version of himself.

  God, how I longed for the softer side of him. After he lost his memory, I’d wanted the confident, no-fucks-to-give deviant man back. I’d wanted the passionate, slightly terrifying guy who’d stolen me from a life I’d been desperate to leave behind. The man whose dark side forced him to claim me.

  Now I missed amnesia Rafe, and that only made me feel like shit because how could I love him while wishing for part of his psyche to go missing again?

  No matter what happens in life, you’re never going to be happy.

  That was my greatest fear, that I’d never find happiness no matter what I did. No matter how light or dark Rafe became, part of me would always ache for the other half of him.

  Growing tired of pacing, I sprawled onto the bed. The clock on the nightstand—luckily unbroken from the morning I threw it at his head—told me I had two hours until he’d come in with dinner. He hadn’t fucked me yet today, but he would.

  He always did.

  And I was slowly dying, the space between my legs in a constant state of arousal. I parted my thighs, and the breeze in the room caressed my skin, teased the heat at my core, eliciting an aching twinge.

  I didn’t give it thought. Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers were dipping into my wetness. I sucked in a breath and didn’t move for several seconds. My heartbeat drowned out the sounds of singing birds outside the window as I debated. It wouldn’t take me long, and he’d never have to know. Keeping secrets from him never worked out, but I was desperate enough to convince myself I could get away with it this one time.

  As soon as I began stroking, I couldn’t stop if I tried. God, it felt fucking incredible, like an addiction I hadn’t indulged in for days, months, years. A moan escaped me, and I bit my lip to silence it.

  I imagined Rafe’s tongue on my clit, the firm, steady strokes of my fingers acting as a proxy for what I needed most.

  Him.

  My lids drifted shut, and I gave myself over to the fantasy of his dark, disheveled head between my thighs.

  His piercing green eyes on me.

  Black ink winding up his biceps.

  And my body responding.

  Spine arching.

  Nipples hardening.

  Sweat broke out on my temples, and the breeze sneaking through the window did little to cool my feverish skin. Naked and wanton on the bed, I spread my thighs further apart as the tempo of my touch increased. It had been days since I’d felt the softness of cotton against my skin, the direct beam of sunlight on my face, the euphoria that always gripped me in the throes of an orgasm.

  I hadn’t felt Rafe against me, skin to skin from the tips of my breasts to the spread of my thighs. He’d taken me from behind every fucking time, his thrusts rough and fast, getting him off before I could reach the top of the summit, let alone leap off the other side.

  I was close to going over now.

  So fucking close.

  That’s when the door opened.

  I yanked my hand from between my legs, but it was too late. Rafe stood in the doorway, his mouth tight with displeasure. As he entered the room, I sat up and pressed my thighs together in shame.

  “I thought I’d bring you a treat,” he said, setting a foil-wrapped truffle on the dresser. “Didn’t expect to find you treating yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You will be.” As he opened the drawer I’d dubbed the naughty one, he directed a dark look my way. “Bend over the bed.”

  I scrambled off the mattress and flopped over the end. Fuck, I’d been foolish. I should have waited until darkness fell, until long after he’d gone down for the night. He and Jax had fallen into a habit of chatting it up until midnight, both camping out in the living room.

  Rafe’s footsteps brought him to where I lay in wait, bent over the bed in his favorite position of vulnerability. He yanked my hands behind my back and cuffed my wrists together. These were metal—the kind I wasn’t getting out of.

  “This should dissuade your urges.”

  “How am I supposed to sleep like this?” Let alone wipe my ass if I had to use the bathroom.

  “I’ll figure something out. If I have to, I’ll tie your hands to the goddamn bedposts.” He undid his buckle, lowered his zipper. The next instant, he pushed inside me, groaning at how wet and ready I was. “If you fucking come, I’m bringing in the ginger.”

  My heart broke a little more as he pumped from behind, his hands steady on my hips, guiding the angle and depth of his cock. As he came, and that low, sexy groan of his infused the air, something inside me cracked.

  “When are you gonna forgive me?”

  He pulled me to my feet, twirled me around, and laid me on the bed. Propping himself up, one hand on either side of my head, he lowered his mouth, lingering inches from mine.

  “I’ve already forgiven you.”

  “I miss you.”

  He kissed the hint of tears off my cheeks, then his mouth slanted over mine. I whimpered into his kiss, wishing like hell I could touch him.

  “I miss you too, babe.” He veered back, one thumb caressing my cheekbone. “This will be over soon.”

  “When?”

  “When I feel you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “I have.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have caught you touching yourself if you’d learned your lesson.”

  “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” I said with a growl.

  “The feeling is fucking mutual.” Instead of engaging in more of our back and forth arguing that would get us nowhere, he pushed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, he returned with a dampened hand towel. “Spread your legs.”

  I parted them, and he started on the insides of my thighs, the towel a warm, teasing caress that made me throb at the core. His green stare bored in
to me as he brought the cloth to the apex of my sex. He spent a couple of minutes wiping me clean, his fingers dipping inside me through the towel every few seconds.

  By the time he pulled away, he had me panting.

  “That should do it,” he said, tossing the towel in the laundry basket by the door.

  I arched a brow. “Are you seriously going to leave me like this? How am I supposed to go to the bathroom?”

  “Guess you’ll have to air dry.” He tugged me up by the shoulders. “I’ll be back in a while with dinner.”

  I watched him leave, helpless to stop him. I couldn’t even run after him, with my ankle shackled to the bed. The window, the door, and the toilet in the bathroom were my boundaries. He’d promised more ginger if I acted out—such as throwing the tantrum I was tempted to. I was only allowed to pound on the door in the event of an emergency. I supposed I should feel lucky he hadn’t plugged my ass for touching myself.

  Instead, he’d taken the use of my hands. Damn him. He was relentless in his pursuit of punishment. Impossible to negotiate with, because in his mind, I’d gone too far this time.

  Okay, so maybe I had. Taking off to confront my dad had been bad enough, but I’d added to my tab of shame by slashing Jax’s tires. And that was my problem; I acted then questioned the wisdom of those actions later. With a shaky sigh, my emotions too close to boiling over, I headed into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, prepared to sit awhile to air dry, as he’d said.

  God, he was fucking twisted.

  Had I been cursed with my time of the month, having my hands cuffed at my back would be impossible. As I counted the tiles in the backsplash behind the sink, colors alternating between brown and blue, I wondered if he’d let me bleed all over the place. In the mood he was in, I wouldn’t put it past him.

  My gaze stalled on the twenty-ninth tile, and my spine stiffened. Monthly curse. Bleeding.

  What date was it?

  I’d lost track of time. It wasn’t hard to do when life didn’t demand a conformity to schedules. When I had no nine-to-five job to worry about. Hell, I barely knew what day of the week it was anymore.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d lost track of shit. A few weeks ago, I’d forgotten a pill.