Sinful (Undone)

by Jennifer Dawson

  My gaze flies to his and I suck in a breath. “You’re kidnapping me!”

  Leo smiles down at me, gripping one wrist and bringing it up over my head. “Consider yourself captured, girl.”

  Leo

  Across from me, Brandon brings Jillian’s other arm over her head and the two of us make quick work of the leather wristbands that will hold her motionless to the bed.

  “Leo.” Her voice is a bit pleading and it reaches out and squeezes my heart.

  I test the restraints, running a finger between her soft skin and the band to ensure she has proper circulation while Brandon does the same. In unison we move to her ankles until she’s shackled to the posts, unable to move.

  In this, I trust him. He is the only person I’d trust with Jillian but as hard as I am, as much as I want her, I don’t fucking want his hands on her.

  It’s an odd, foreign feeling to be this goddamn jealous, made worse by the knowledge that she’s clearly having a fantastic time. She’s primed and ready for whatever I throw her way, and all I want to do is stop. Brandon was right.

  I don’t want to do this.

  But I’m committed. I want Jillian to get the experiences she deserves. All night, while I’ve been working her into a sexual frenzy, I’ve been looping over in my head what I’ll let Brandon do to her. Strategizing how I can fulfill her fantasies without his hands on her.

  At some point, I’ll have to let him touch her, and it’s still not sitting well. Unlike other women I’ve played out scenes like this with, the fact that it’s only happening because I say it is doesn’t matter with Jillian.

  I have a possessive urge to keep her to myself.

  But I want her to have her fantasy too much to stop the plan I’d set in motion. This is my problem, not hers.

  “I’m scared.” She trembles under my touch.

  “I know.” I run a hand over her leg to stroke her saturated clit. Despite my reservations about Brandon’s hands on my woman I’d never seen anything so fucking hot as Jillian grinding her sweet pussy against that chair and coming like a volcano erupted inside her.

  She likes this and I will give it to her.

  “I can’t move.” I can see the panic written across her expression. “I don’t think I want to be tied up.”

  Her statement is filled with loopholes, but it’s her body that tells the real tale. My fingers are wet, her nipples are tight, and her skin is flushed. Without mercy I say, “You’d have a better argument if your cunt wasn’t so wet.”

  “I. I… I don’t know.”

  I offer her the one escape she has. I squeeze her thigh. “Do you want to safe word it?”

  She shakes her head. The response immediate.

  I try not to think too much about the part of me that wants her to use the one word that will stop everything so I can take her home, strip her naked and put her to bed.

  But she doesn’t use her safe word. She wants this, her fantasy she’s been thinking about since she was sixteen, and I can’t deny her. I lean down and kiss her lips, reassuring her as best I can. “Trust me.”

  “Okay.” The word is trembling and unsure.

  I stand back, surveying my handiwork. She’s at our mercy. Unable to move or escape. Brandon’s next to me, arms crossed like mine, both of us staring down at her. I don’t need to look at Brandon to know he wears an expression that matches my own, stern and unrelenting.

  This isn’t our first rodeo.

  Although this is the first time I want to get off the horse. The first time I want to cover her breasts so Brandon can’t look at her. That watching his fingers wrap around her wrists and ankles fills me with dread.

  Jillian’s gaze is on mine. Hazel eyes big, the perfect mix of fear and anticipation. Her tongue darts over her lower lip. That gorgeous mouth I want to keep to myself.

  In a calm voice that gives away none of my discomfort, I say, “I’m not going to cover your mouth.” I lean down so we’re eye to eye. “I want to hear you scream.”

  She sucks in a breath, her exhalation harsh in the silence of the room.

  I sit down on the mattress, with no sheets, covers or anything that provides her comfort. I reach between her legs and circle her clit. She shifts, or at least tries to, and when she finds she can’t move her muscles clench under my hand.

  I shift my attention to Brandon. “We still have her attitude to deal with.”

  He nods. “We do.”

  “Get the flogger.” I’m not much of a prop guy and Jillian is a hands on type of girl, but if Brandon uses a flogger on her, he won’t be touching her. I relax fractionally, enjoying the rise and fall of her breasts as Brandon disappears into the shadows of the room where he has a wardrobe full of all sorts of devices that would give Jillian a heart attack.

  With a leisurely touch I stroke her wet swollen flesh and smile down at her. “You liked it when I smacked your pussy, didn’t you?”

  Her gaze darts away and a flush spreads across her cheekbones. She nods.

  “You’ve been wanting to feel it again. The harsh sting before your skin heats and explodes with pleasure?” I already know this is true by the way she’s sought it out since I’d done it. Raising her hips into my hand. Shifting so my blows land closer to the spot she most wants. I haven’t delivered though, because as she’s so fond of telling me, I am mean. I want her unable to escape the knowledge of her desires. That she craves depravity.

  And she does. We’ve only brushed the tip of the iceberg.

  Again, she nods.

  Brandon returns and her gaze locks on the flogger in his hands.

  I grab the tattered edges of her dress and rip the fabric the rest of the way. She gasps, her expression clouding over with lust.

  Jillian loves having clothes ripped from her body.

  God, she’s so fucking perfect.

  I pull the cloth away from her breasts, giving Brandon better access. I skim over her nipples, circling, pinching and pulling until she’s straining against her bonds and her head thrashes. When she’s properly worked up, I move my hand away and say to Brandon, “Whip her.”

  Jillian’s eyes go wide as saucers.

  He doesn’t hesitate, just steps forward and swings. The black strands flash across her olive skin with a fluttery snap.

  She cries out. “Oh my god!”

  Brandon laughs. “We have a winner.”

  He does it again and again, and when she’s panting, I brush my fingers over her clit. A tease.

  Her gaze flies to mine, and with Brandon raining down a steady stream, I ask, “Are you going to be a good girl?”

  “Yes.” The word a gasp.

  I shift my attention to Brandon. “Do you believe her?”

  He pulls back and snaps the flogger hard over her nipple and she screams and pulses into my hand. “Nope.”

  I flick my thumb over her clit but don’t deliver any real pressure, because she’s primed to go off. “Are you going to prove him wrong, girl?”

  She nods vigorously.

  I tap my fingers against her, a warning of what to anticipate. I know her body now, how she’ll respond, her tells. She’ll come on the first or second strike. I run one finger over her slick flesh. Brandon lightens his strokes to match the rhythm of my fingers over her skin. “You’re spread wide and open. You can’t escape. Can’t move away. When I hit you, all you’ll be able to do is lie there and take it.”

  Her breath comes impossibly faster.

  I shift my attention to Brandon and nod. In perfect, synchronized timing he snaps the strands across her nipple and I deliver a harsh blow against her clit. She cries out and starts coming immediately. We don’t let up, striking her flesh over and over as she rides out what’s clearly a powerful orgasm.

  I don’t want her to come down. I want to use her sensitized skin and push her into oblivion. But I still don’t want Brandon to touch her so I say in a harsh voice, “Get the wand.”

  The flogger drops to the floor and the wand is pushed into my hand.
Brandon turns away to plug in the king of all vibrators.

  She raises her head. “What?”

  “Hush,” I say, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Just lie back and be quiet.”

  And because her muscles are all melted, she does.

  “Tape.” I bark out the word like I’m a surgeon asking for a scalpel.

  Brandon drops a thick roll of tape into my outstretched palm. I press the wand between her legs, full against her clit, using my fingers to spread her open.

  She makes a halfhearted protest that I ignore as I use the tape to strap the wand to her thigh, holding it in place.

  I kiss her beautiful mouth, run my hands over her nipples, and then rise.

  She gasps. Moans. Her gaze glassy.

  I reach between her legs and flip the On switch.

  She cries out, her back bowing.

  This is no ordinary vibrator. It forces the sensations. It’s the devil and an angel. Heaven and hell. Pure torment and utter ecstasy. Or so I’ve been told.

  Almost immediately an orgasm shakes her body as sweat breaks out over her skin.

  Brandon raises a brow. “She’s a little quick on the trigger.”

  “We’ll see how long that lasts,” I say, and return to Jillian writhing on the mattress.

  I’ve bought myself more time, delaying the inevitable conclusion of this night. But I won’t think about that right now. Right now, I’ll just stand here and watch her come.

  Sometime later, Jillian’s back bows, as another orgasm shakes her legs and her cries ring out. I’m not entirely positive how many orgasms she’s had, but I need to stop as I’m in danger of sending her into overload. I don’t want her to crash any harder than she will already after this night is through.

  I glance over at Brandon who raises a brow and I nod, signaling him that after she comes again we’ll stop.

  And then he’ll touch her.

  Another orgasm tears through Jillian, ripping me from my thoughts. They’re coming one on top of each other now, turning her needy and mindless.

  She’s a mess. Her hair is a wild tangle, her makeup has run, she’s flushed, sweating, and looks completely undone. “Had enough?”

  Glazed eyes look up at me. She licks her full lips and nods. I flip off the switch and the room falls into an almost unnatural silence.

  This is my responsibility, to give her what she most desires, even when it scares her. She deserves to have this.

  I rub a finger down her cheek. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

  I crouch down and start working at the ropes. At her wrists and ankles and Brandon comes over to help. My teeth grind as his fingers brush over her calf but I ignore my discomfort.

  Her gorgeous cat eyes, gold with those brilliant shards of green stare at me, cling to me. Huge and confused, unfocused. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re going to take you, and you’re going to let us do whatever we want to you.”

  “Okay,” she says, her voice sounding open and vulnerable.

  “Leo?” Brandon says, and when I glance at him he gives me a searching look. He’s not stupid, he knows this is different for me.

  Her hand rests on my arm. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t.” When she gets to this place she always asks me that and every time she does it makes my heart skip a beat and my chest squeeze.

  “Leo?” Brandon asks again. He doesn’t say anything else, most likely unwilling to question me in front of Jillian.

  My jaw clenches. I’m doing this. For her. “Do it.”

  Something flashes in Brandon’s expression and he crouches down near Jillian’s head and fists her hair. Her lashes flutter open and she looks at him in surprise.

  His face descends.

  Her lips part.

  And with my gaze locked on them, I come face-to-face with the truth.

  I’m in love with her.

  Fuck. Panic rushes through me, like lightning through my blood. How could I have not seen this? It’s so stupidly obvious.

  I cannot stomach the thought of Brandon touching her because she’s mine. And only mine.

  The air whooshes from my lungs.

  I’m in love with her.

  This woman who’s haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember, who’s invaded my life and filled up all those cracks inside me. Filled all that emptiness I’ve felt since my brother died.

  I am in love with her and she can break me.

  If I lose her, if something happens to her, I'll never recover. The panic builds in my system, taking over the rational part of my brain.

  I don’t think I can bare it. Losing her.

  The images of my brother, lying in that casket roar through my head. His face—my face—still and unnatural. The deep fathomless, endless grief.

  It all gets tangled. Entwined with Jillian. She can crush me. She holds the power to all my happiness and all my grief in the palm of her hand.

  “Stop.” The word is harsh, emotional sounding. Brandon immediately pulls back, straightening with his hands up. “We’re done here.”

  Jillian

  I have no idea what happened, but something is very wrong. I’m not really clear on the turn of events. I was so out of my mind. All I remember is the orgasms, crashing over me, one right after the other and Leo tossing a blanket over me, hauling me up and carrying me, limp, to his car.

  On the ride I fell asleep, only to wake on my couch, the blanket still tossed over me.

  Confused, I blink. Why are we here? Why aren’t we at his condo?

  A lonely place grows inside me, welling and threating to overtake me. Where is he? I sit up, my gaze flying around the room to find him sitting on a chair, watching me. I push my hair back. “What happened?”

  His expression is distant. Almost cold. “You fell asleep.”

  Coldness shudders through me. I need him to hold me until the loneliness passes. I have never crashed where he hasn’t been right there, guiding me through it. “Leo?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice flat. “I know you wanted it, but I couldn’t go through with it.”

  My thoughts are muddled. “Wanted it?”

  “Brandon. Him touching you.” His demeanor reminds me of that first night, when he’d described his relationships in cold, clinical terms. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

  “Failed me? What are you talking about?” My mind focuses, but I’m still unable to make connections. “When have I ever said anything about Brandon?”

  “You pictured yourself on that table. We talked about it.”

  I shiver and wrap the blanket around me. “What?”

  He laces his fingers in the space between his knees, his knuckles whitening. “The story Brandon told you about Carolynn, you said you pictured yourself on the table.”

  “So? I’ve pictured myself bungee jumping off a bridge, doesn’t mean I want to do it.” I don’t understand what’s going on. Brow furrowed, I look at him. “And I never pictured Brandon touching me. I pictured you.”

  He opens his mouth, but before he says anything he shakes his head. “Never mind, that’s not the point. You’re not wrong for wanting it. I’m wrong because I couldn’t give it to you.”

  I press my fingers into my eyes. “What?” I seem unable to ask another question.

  “It’s my responsibility to give you what you need, what you desire, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you.”

  This doesn’t make any sense to me, but I understand he feels he’s wronged me somehow. Blanket still wrapped around me I stand up and walk over to him. I run my fingers over his cheek and say softly, “Leo, you didn’t fail me. All I want, all I ever want is you. You and me, that’s all that matters.”

  A dark shadow flickers over his features. “Are you dropping?”

  “A little.” A lot. But not from the session he’d put me through, but from fear. Worry that something is wrong. I crouch down so he can’t avoid eye contact. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  In silence we walk down the hall and when we’re behind the closed doors I let the blanket fall to the floor. Naked, I turn to him, and his gaze flickers down my body, but his jaw remains rigid. He walks around me and pulls the covers up. “Get into bed so you’re not cold.”

  “Leo. You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s fine, Jillian. Let’s just go to bed.”

  I think about arguing, but it’s like that first night, and I know I won’t get anything out of him. I’ll have to try again tomorrow. I climb into bed.

  He strips down, and climbs in after me, pulling me close like he always does. Only there’s no warmth, no haven, like usual. Our bodies don’t meld together. No, our bodies are stiff. Unyielding and cold, his arms taut around me, like I’m a stranger he’s forced to comfort.

  I lie there, confused and lost. The euphoria from earlier has seeped away and I crash hard, his arms around me. I refuse to give in to the tears threatening to overtake me.

  When I wake up the following morning, I’m alone.

  He left a note. Some bullshit about work.

  Fury races through me, like a thousand little bolts of electricity. I’m livid. How dare he? I pick up the phone and call him. Hoping I’m wrong. Hoping this is just some horrible misunderstanding and I’m being irrational.

  No answer. I hang up and text him. My fingers flying over the glass in angry jabs. If he thought I was going to stand by and take whatever shit this was, he didn’t know me at all. Did you really just duck out on me in the middle of the night?

  Heather walks out of her room and her eyes widen. “Oh, you’re home.”

  I put down the phone. “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  My brain tries to rationalize that he could have been called in to some work emergency, but my heart doesn’t buy it. My stomach turns. “No.”

  Her expression clouds over. “What’s wrong?”

  My throat tightens. “Your dress is ruined.”

  “Oookkaay.” She draws out the word. Her brow furrowed. “What happened?”

  What did happen? How do I explain? What was I supposed to say? Let’s see, Leo took me to his friend Brandon’s house last night. You remember him, right? Well, he lives in one of those old Chicago mansions. We went there, they stripped me down, tied me up, spanked me and watched me have about a million orgasms. But Leo said stop and now he thinks he’s failed me somehow and won’t talk to me.