by Frost, Thea
Contents
Title
What His Darkness Reveals #2
What His Darkness Reveals #2
By Thea Frost
Copyright © 2015, Thea Frost, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book contains sexual situations and explicit language, and is suitable for readers over 18.
Jack
Bryce lies stretched out on my bed, ready, waiting for me, her hands tied to the headboard, her eyes hidden beneath my tie. She's scared. Aroused. I can see her chest rising in sharp, short breaths. Her beautiful tits are cupped by her lace bra. Her sex is wet and tight beneath her black panties.
She has no idea what she's in for. No idea how quickly she's losing control. Of the situation. Of her body. I'm burning for her. I want to possess her. Consume her. Hear her cry out. Make her scream. Make her sob. I want to torment her. Torture her. Make her beg for release. For more.
I move to the side of the bed. My cock is so hard it almost aches. I could take her right now. Spread her legs, push her panties aside, and ram myself into her. But I won't. I'm going to make this last.
I reach down and caress her cheek. She turns her face toward me, her breath catching. Those soft lips. They looked so hot, so perfect wrapped around the base of my thumb. Her hot, wet tongue.
She's eager to please. Ready to submit. Innocent. Vulnerable. Ready to be taught. Broken down, so I can build her back up.
I almost feel regret. I almost change my mind and untie her. Remove her blindfold. Kiss her chastely, and send her home. Back to her life. Her world. Her secure boundaries.
Away from me.
Away from my dark demons.
Because everything I touch, I break.
No matter how much I love. No matter how much I try to protect.
But it's too late. I can't stop. I need her too much. I can feel the darkness rising within me.
One thing's for sure.
She won't be innocent for long.
Bryce
I can't see, but even with my eyes covered I can picture Jack Deckard. He's completely different from any man I've ever met. Masterful. Cruel. Commanding. And hot. Oh god. Lying here on his bed, knowing he's watching me, drinking me in, I can feel myself soaking my panties. I've never been this wet. What is he going to do to me? He's both wicked and brilliant. A dangerous combination.
I try to calm my breathing, but I can't. I try to calm my nerves. They're on fire. My stomach is knotted up with anticipation. Fear. Desire. It's a lethal mix. An insane cocktail of emotions. Guilt. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be falling for this man. This man I've devoted myself to investigating. Discovering the truth about.
Is he still true to his mission? Or is he a fallen angel, a rogue agent, a murderous monster?
I think of his lips. His stubbled jaw, his harsh cheekbones. And oh, his eyes, devilish and opaque, hiding pain, hiding secrets I can't even begin to guess at. That perfect body covered in ink. His rippled abs. His muscled arms. His broad chest, his powerful shoulders. Lethal. Hot beyond belief. Scornful. Disdainful. Confident. And now with complete control over me.
I strain to hear him, but he moves silently and when he touches my cheek, I shiver. His touch is gentle. He traces the curve of my cheek. My stomach flutters. I part my lips, but he's gone.
I can sense him now. Circling the bed. I try to track him. Stir uneasily on the bed. I need him. I need his cock. The realization is stark. I've never thought in those terms.
But it's true. I need him like a drug addict needs his fix. My body is aching for him. To be filled by him.
Fucked by him.
His fingertips trail over my stomach, and I gasp, body jerking. It's like liquid fire moving over my skin. I'm so on edge. His fingers move up between my breasts, then close around my neck.
I go completely still.
Does he know the truth about me? That I'm not Bryce Fischer? That I'm a cop? Has this been a setup? His fingers tighten around my throat. They left bruises on my hips earlier. I try not to swallow. He could squeeze the life out of me. I have no doubt. His grip tightens. I can't breathe. Just as panic begins to stir in my chest, he relaxes his grip, and his lips press against mine.
Tender.
Almost shockingly so. I lift my face to his, and he's gone.
"No," he whispers. "You're mine. Move only when you're told."
I rest my head back, and then feel something cold against my skin. Ice cold. Metallic. It traces a line down from my cheek to my sternum, then slips under the center strap of my bra. Before I can guess what it might be, Jack jerks the metal up, and my bra is sliced open. My eyes flutter in shock - a knife - and then his mouth is on my nipple.
Hot. Wet. Demanding.
I groan. My emotions are in turmoil. He knows what he's doing. His lips, his tongue. His other hand squeezing my breast. Kneading. I want to move my hands down to him. Try. Of course I can't. I arch my back as the pleasure mounts, radiating through my body.
Jack moves to my other breast. Dimly in the back of my mind, I think: he's got a knife. But the thought is gone before the waves of pleasure. He works my nipple in circles till it's hard and erect, then pinches it teasingly and takes it again in his mouth. It feels amazing.
One of his hands presses down on my stomach, then slides down to cup my sex. I gasp. He just cups me, squeezing my mound, claiming me. I almost raise my hips and catch myself in time.
Then he's up. Off me. I almost cry out in disappointment, but the bed dips beneath his weight. His knee by my head, then his leg swung over me. He's straddling my chest, his hand on my cheek.
"Open that mouth of yours, Bryce." His voice is raw with desire. His need sends an electric current racing through my body. He's as aroused as I am. As hungry. I open my mouth, feeling awkward, shy, and his finger traces my lips. "So fucking hot," he growls. "Are you ready?"
I nod.
His cock head slides into my mouth. Its tip is salty with precum. It's smooth, engorged, massive. I lift my head to allow it in deeper, and feel him rise so that he can angle himself into my throat.
Salty. Rigid. Hot. Silky smooth. I close my lips around his shaft, and when he pulls back out I hear him hiss with pleasure. A hand cups the back of my head. "Like that," he whispers. "I've been dreaming of your lips around my cock since I saw you at the bar."
He slides back into me, and I swirl my tongue around his cock. Suck on it, try to push him over the edge. He's so fucking big. I can't take all of him. I feel him hit the back of my throat and then he pulls back out. His hand guides my head back, then up. In and out he slides, and I swear his head is growing larger. I slurp and suck. I lose all sense of dignity. Of self. I just want more of his cock.
With a groan he finally pulls out. Sits back. He's breathing quickly, and I know he's come to the very edge. Any more, and he'd have come in my mouth.
I realize I want that. I want to see Jack lose control.
Lose control over me.
His hands are on my face again, and then the tie is gone. I blink, the dim lighting of the bedroom bright for a moment, and then I see him. He's straddling my chest, sitting lightly on me, his body glorious, sculpted, inhumanly hot. Not an ounce of fat on him. I stare up at him, fascinated, and he looks down at me, face inscrutable.
"Jack," I whisper, but he shakes his head.
"The only sounds you can make are of pleasure," he says. He moves down the bed till he's kneeling between my legs. "Or pain."
He wraps one arm under my hips and lifts me without effort, the muscles of his arm coiling.
I spread my legs wide. He takes his cock and uses its head to push aside my panties. I close my eyes as he presses it against my lips. I'm so wet he slides right inside.
I have to bite down on my gasp of pleasure. Then I remember he's given me permission to moan, and I do so as he slides in, his cock almost too large for me.
I look down my body at him. Jack leans back, resting on his heels. He pulls me closer, and then with one arm stretched back to support me, begins to fuck me in a way that makes me cry out right there and then.
He doesn't pump into me. He undulates, rocking his hips up and down as if he's dancing, every muscle in sharp relief across his body. Sinuous, like the ocean waves, in and out of me, stirring my depths, his cock head driving against the top of my canal, stirring up echoes of madness and ecstasy with each stroke.
I cry out and close my eyes. This is too much. I've never been fucked like this. I didn't even know this was possible. This kind of lethal grace, this kind of maddening motion. His arm wrapped around me holds me aloft, my weight on my shoulder blades, and then he places his palm on my mound and begins to rub his thumb on my clit even as he fucks me harder.
Can pleasure be too intense? Can ecstasy become a torment? He's grunting now, his body slicked with sweat. In and out he goes, faster and harder, my body shaking and in rhythm with his. Wave after wave of pleasure powers through me. I feel alive, more alive than I ever have before. I can't breathe. It's too much. I'm crying, I realize, overwhelmed.
Jack's face is rapt, his eyes narrowed, almost snarling. He's fucking me, wringing pleasure from my body. Building me up till I can't take any more.
Then he leans forward, drops my legs to the mattress, and finally, gloriously, loses control. His body looms over mine, arms holding him up, and he unleashes his need upon me.
Takes me.
Ravages me.
Fucks me and holds nothing back. The fire he was building within my core becomes a raging inferno. He slams into me over and over, faster and faster, and I'm screaming.
When I come it's too much.
I can't handle it. Something within me opens, and I realize in that moment how big a mistake I've made.
This isn't the kind of man I should get this intimate with. I should never have allowed him to get to me like this.
But then all thought is gone. My orgasm washes through me like a tidal wave, and Jack's crying out, straining, buried deep within me, coming and shooting hot cum deep within my pussy.
I strain, and then collapse. He unties my hands and falls down next to me. I feel the tears coming. It was too much. I can't cry. Not here, not with him. But his arm comes around me. He pulls me against his chest. Gentle. Strong.
I roll onto my side and feel him cradle me as the aftershocks pass through my body. I try to hide my tears, but he's kissing the back of my neck. Holding me close. Holding me tight.
Can I allow myself to relax? To trust him? Is this the real Jack, right now, right here, with me?
An insane part of me wants to turn and just ask him: who are you? Who is the real you? Criminal or cop? Good man or murderer? But I bite my lip. I fight that urge, and instead just luxuriate in his warmth. His skin against mine. His breath on my skin.
Our breathing calms. Jack stands up, peeling himself away, and stretches. I turn to admire his body. Beautiful. His cock large and gorgeous. He releases his stretch with a sigh, and then looks at me with a lazy, affectionate glance. "Come."
I stand. My legs are shaky. I wipe my cheeks and follow him into the bathroom. There's a whirlpool tub and a large, glass-boxed shower. He turns the water on and pulls me in after him, under the warm stream. It's my second of the night. The second time we've made love.
Fucked.
I close my eyes and let the water stream down my hair.
"Here," he says, and then I feel his hands move over my scalp. He's massaging shampoo into my scalp. I feel myself relax. It feels so good. The hiss of the water. The occasional touch of his body against mine. The feel of his fingers against my scalp. He works the shampoo expertly into my hair, and then continues down my body, rubbing the suds against my breasts, down my stomach, across my hips to my ass, then up my back. I turn slowly, loving it. After the brutal past six months, this is heaven. He cleans me slowly, tenderly.
I don't dare hope. Is this a new side to him that he's showing me? Whenever I glance at his face, I can't tell if he's relaxed or not. What he's thinking.
Inscrutable, that's Jack Deckard. Even now.
I rinse off when he's done and step out of the shower as he does the same. His towels are huge and ridiculously soft. He dries quickly, almost roughly, and then tosses the towel in the hamper. "Come find me in the kitchen when you're ready. I'll leave clothing for you on the bed."
Then he's gone.
I study my face in the mirror. Six months I've been dreaming of this assignment, and never in even my wildest imaginings did I see it turning out like this. I try to comb my hair with my fingers, then finish toweling off and go into the bedroom. He's laid out an old shirt and boxers for me. Soft and worn. I hesitate, then pull them on. Jack's a large enough man that they fit comfortably.
I pad out into the living room, and the sight of my briefcase where I left it before brings home what my priorities should be. I need to dig deep. Find out the truth. Who is Jack Deckard?
He's in the kitchen, pouring a glass of orange juice. He slides it over to me as I sit on one of the bar stools. He finishes the carton, not bothering with a glass, and then tosses it in the trash.
I drink. My throat's parched. The juice is cold and perfect. I feel comfortable with him, yet my awareness as to my mission stops me from relaxing.
Jack leans across the counter, resting on his elbows. His green eyes are dark, but there's an easy smile on his lips.
"You're doing well for yourself," I say, nodding at his amazing apartment.
He quirks an eyebrow. "I'm doing all right."
I feel awkward. I don't want to talk about his criminal activities. I want to just enjoy being with him. To dwell on how it felt to have him hold me close. "You'll do better if you agree to work with me."
He laughs. "I thought we were sealing the deal back there."
I love his laugh. "I try to keep work and pleasure separate. I see I'm going to have a hard time with you."
"A very hard time." His voice is mock serious. I snort, amused despite myself by the pun. "I'm going to have a very hard time keeping my hands off you," he continues.
"Good." I want more. I want him. After tonight, I want to get to know him through and through, and not just because he's my target. "Though when it comes to business, we're going to have to keep it professional."
"Sure," he says, voice almost lazy. "You'll be surprised how well I can do that."
There's that darkness in his eyes. "We'll see." Are you a criminal, Jack? The words are on my lips.
"I am going to want to fuck you again." His voice smolders. "You're not getting away with just one night with me."
"Hmm," I say, leaning back, pretending to be undecided. "I'll have to think about it."
He laughs again and rounds the counter. Comes up behind me. "Really?"
I look over my shoulder at him. "Maybe. You'll have to convince me to stick around."
Jack's hands ghost up my bare arms, sending goosebumps across my skin. "I can be quite... convincing."
I try to keep my voice level. "I noticed."
"I'm going to want to keep you close," he whispers. "Within reach at all times."
I arch my back as his lips press against my neck. "And why's that?"
He nips my neck, and I shiver. "So I can slide into you when I need to. When I want to. When I just have to have you."
I reach behind me and discover that his cock is hard. Again. "Are you going to fuck me, Mr. Deckard?"
"Mmm," he rumbles, lips moving up my neck to the hollow behind my ear.
I'm sore, almost aching, but I realize I want him again. I can't get enough.
He can't get enough of me. What is this? What's going on? Three times in one night? His hand moves to take hold of my wet hair, gripping it and turning my face to him even as he urges me off the stool and bends me over the counter.
The marble top is cold through the shirt, and immediately my nipples go hard. He presses my face down on the counter too, and reaches down for my boxers, pushing them down over the curve of my ass.
Just then his phone rings. Jack pauses, then curses. Reaches past me to pick it up and answer. "What?"
Silence. I go from being incredibly aroused to feeling incredibly awkward. My boxers are around my knees. My face is still pressed to the counter. I wait, trying to be patient. I get the feeling that if I try to stand up, Jack will be displeased.
"You're fucking kidding me." His voice is harsh now, and I can hear the simmering anger growing beneath it. "Tell Francesca to deal with it."
I wait, breathing shallowly. Has he forgotten about me? Jack lets go of my hair and steps away, listening to the other person. I reach down and pull up the boxers, then sit back down and hug myself.
"I'll kill him." His words are white hot with fury. "All right. I'll be right there."
He hangs up and stares into space, lips pursed. Then he looks at me, blinking as if he's trying to remember who I am. "Bryce. You're going to have to leave now."
"Oh," I say, standing up. He's staring at me coldly. "Um. OK. Is something wrong?"
"It's none of your business." His voice is sharp. Warning.
"Oh. Right." I tuck my hair behind my ear. "I'll, um, get my things, then."
He nods and turns away. I hurry past him into the bedroom. I can't believe what's happening. What just happened? How could he talk to me like that after what we just went through? After what he said? I pull off his shirt and boxers, and get back into my own clothing. I stare at the bed. At the tie where it lies on the floor. The restraints that held my wrists.
I'm actually nervous to step back out into the living room. I take a deep breath. You're Bryce Fischer, not some high school girl. I stride back out, and Jack is on the phone again, listening, eyes burning with anger. I hesitate, wanting to wait to say goodbye. But he catches sight of me, nods as if acknowledging that I'm leaving, and simply turns away.