by Cynthia Dane
There was nothing loving or tender about the way he thrust into her, using her body as a means to his own generous end. Nala went through spells of being absolutely enthralled with the pinching pain and blinding pleasure both… and spells of wanting to push him away, to slap him across the face and tell him to fuck off.
Which would win out?
Her ass slammed against the wall. At first she couldn’t feel why, and then she felt it happen again: Vincent tried to pull out too fast, his cock still hooked within her and attempting to bring her with him as he moved. This resulted in a mere inch slipping out of her, but her whole pelvis following him three more until he slammed forward again. A shoe slipped off Nala’s foot and clattered to the ground. Her throat released a cry of shock and pleasure both. This is so fucking unreal. It happened again. Again. Again. Each time Vincent impaled her against the wall and rammed his cock deep within her core.
Nala had never felt this split open before. Because split open was the only way to describe what Vincent was doing to her.
Eventually he caught on to what was happening and held her hips still, thrusting faster and faster until she was undeniably wet enough to take him like this. I didn’t know I could do this. It was rough, it was sudden, and it was absolutely wonderful.
“You fucking seductress,” he managed to murmur against her chest, lips diverting to her breasts as her hands pushed strands of dark hair between fingers. “I’ll teach you a real lesson.”
Nala didn’t know what that meant, but he was about to force an orgasm out of her if he kept this up. Do it. I want to know what that feels like!
“Fuck you!”
Nala nearly fell to the ground as Vincent suddenly pulled out of her, letting her legs collapse into their rightful position. She moaned, betrayed, her body begging him to fill her again and to give her back that beautiful pleasure she had never experienced before.
She opened her mouth, lips about to sputter disbelief. Vincent slapped his hand over her gaping maw and slapped his other hand right on her wet nether lips, pressing against her engorging clit.
“Fuck you, Nala Nazarov,” he said again. “Fuck you for what you’ve made me feel.” Vincent forced her around, bending her over the arm of the nearby leather chair and lining his cock up with her opening. “Fuck you and your tight cunt.” Nala’s knee appeared beside her shoulder as Vincent pulled her leg up by the thigh. The only thing helping her with their height difference was the stiletto heel piercing the ground beneath her. “Fuck you and your Siren song, Nightingale.”
He entered her, hard, spearing her over the arm of the chair and sending her and a loud, echoing moan into the seat. Vincent’s hand covered her mouth again, muffling any further sound as his cock furiously penetrated her depths over and over again. He’s going to come. He hates it, but he’ll fuck me until he comes. Would he let her come? Was she even allowed to? A part of her didn’t care. The wild ride she took on his cock was enough to sate her for now. But another part of her demanded it. Because she was the Nightingale, a creature he had named himself.
If I am yours, then I demand to be treated as your treasured possession. All well and good in her heart and head. Then she felt the way he broke into her, taking whatever he needed without any regard for her pleasure.
Or maybe it was with every regard.
“Mmf!” She couldn’t contain that. Nala moaned into his hand, her own braced against the couch as she became more and more determined to stand up to his fucking. Fingers gripped leather. Knees turned red from whatever burns they endured. Sweat dripped down her forehead and cum stole down her legs. There was no escape for Nala now. Not that she would run. She was a willing prisoner. A prisoner who defied her Master. His cock may swell within her, but she would endure it, welcome it even.
After all, in the end it felt like the greatest moment of her life.
“Ugh!” A surge of heat, wet with fury, expanded inside Nala’s loins. She braced herself for the next shot of his seed, gripping all that she could as she willed her cunt to open more to his length. You’re not all the way in. I know it. Not even at that angle, with him driving right into her. You have me stretched every which way to Sunday. It hurts like fuck. I know I’ll pay for this later. I want more. I want your big fucking cock in every nook of my body. Give me more of your seed, dirtbag. I can take it. I can take anything.
She stared triumphantly at the black leather in the shadows. Nala would have cackled in glee if she wasn’t concentrating on the third hit of seed expanding within her. She hadn’t felt it quite like that before. It felt… amazing? Welcoming? Right? It was so wrong. She wasn’t supposed to have unprotected sex with a man she barely knew… but she couldn’t help herself. This was what she was meant to experience.
“Holy shit.” With that, Vincent spent himself at last, holding himself within her as he lost the last of his strength.
Nala released the tension in her tendons, but she did not release his cock. She locked herself around it, tears of victory falling down her cheeks as her tongue snaked between his sweaty fingers. When Vincent finally won the battle of their wills and pulled out, Nala welcomed the hot stream flowing out of her and covering the leather chair. She felt it with her own fingers, guffawing against her arm.
“What the fuck is it…” Vincent leaned against the wall, watching her.
Nala eased her sore legs together, holding him inside her. “You underestimated me. You didn’t think I could take that.”
“The fact that you did means nothing.”
The taste of salt hit Nala’s tongue as she sampled what happened when they came together. “It means everything. Your macho male bullshit thinks it’s claimed me, but really, we both know that it’s me who owns your ass now.”
“Whatever.”
Nala stood, inhaling the sweet, musky air of victory. Maybe it was all in her head. It didn’t matter. Right now she felt much more like her old self that it was endearing. Not to Vincent, no… but to the person she preferred to be.
“Now I’ve gotta go clean up,” she announced, clasping her hand on Vincent’s arm. Nala took in the sight of his disheveled shirt, of his flaccid cock sticking out of his pants. Vincent hurried to zip himself back up, but it was too late. “When I get back, you’re finding an excuse to take me home. Because I am so done here. You made sure of that.”
She made it sound like she was admonishing him. Perhaps she was, a little. I’ve gotta stay ahead one step of this guy now. Otherwise he would walk all over her, and Nala Nazarov was not a woman a man could walk all over.
Her mask threatened to slip down her nose as she strolled back to the bathroom. Neither is Nightingale. Her persona would have to be even stronger than her real self in order to survive this bullshit.
***
The car pulled up to the same spot it always made use of. Nala waited for the engine to shut off, but it never did.
Vincent remained silent behind the wheel, eyes planted on the quiet residential road. He hadn’t said a damned thing since they left the club, telling Xavier Crow that poor Nala was feeling under the weather and needed to head home for the evening. The man had waved them off before going back to a heated conversation with Hawk.
Now Nala was trapped in a car with a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Was it because she “seduced” him, making him shed that resolve that was usually so resolute around her? Or was it fatigue? Vincent was not going to offer her cuddles. Not that Nala wanted any.
“Goodnight, I guess.” Nala opened the door, feeling the cold air back on her skin. “Thanks for the slutty dress. I see why you picked it out now.”
Vincent bristled, but did not otherwise react. What an ass. Nala should have guessed he would be like this when pushed. Men didn’t stay docile for long. Telling me to shut up so he can fuck me. Didn’t she like it? Beside the point.
“By the way.”
She waited until he looked at her, brows furrowed and nose flaring in disgust. With her? With himself? For the way they acted like common a
nimals in a stupid sex club? What, was Vincent a candles and body oil kind of guy? Fat chance.
“Now what?” he snapped.
“Next time we do it, make sure you let a girl come.”
Nala stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind her. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, the window rolled down and Vincent reached across the passenger side seat to catch Nala on her way.
“You mean you didn’t?”
She stopped. “You mean you couldn’t tell?” Nala could barely hear herself over the car. Plus, the cold. The cold. “Or were you so caught up in your dick that you weren’t even paying attention to me?” No way was she sticking around for his answer. Nala walked away, finally mastering stepping in those huge heels in time to reach the front door. She heard the car take off behind her, but did not turn around to watch Vincent go.
For all her righteous bravado, Nala became crestfallen as she searched for her house key in her satchel. Fuck, that was hot. Girl needed a shower, but…
The door opened. The lights were off. Patrick was apparently out for the night, giving Nala free reign to do as she pleased. Like take a shower and make love to the showerhead, finishing the job Vincent started over an hour ago. The man in her fantasies always made sure she came, no matter how rough he gave it to her.
Entry #6
As it turns out, Nightingale’s motives are exactly like mine. Crow had her sister killed. This woman was a medical researcher beneath him, and it seems she came too close to harming his bottom line.
But that’s not what I’m focusing on tonight. At The Aviary, I crossed a line that I can never transgress again. I took her. I took Nightingale in that primal way I’ve been fantasizing about. In that way I haven’t felt in such a fucking long time.
It was not love. It was barely respect. I lost complete control of myself. But hearing her say that she wanted me… that she wanted me to do those things… do you know how long it’s been since I succumbed to my most base desires.
I feel him awakening in me. The dormant Vincent of these past three years is rising to the challenge set before him. Nightingale is trainable. She is willing. I could feel it in her body as I took her. Perhaps it’s her youthful folly and she’ll come to realize I’m more dangerous than she thought. But I don’t take her for that great of a fool. Tonight’s dinner conversation proved she’s been through almost as much as I have. Perhaps she is more mature than I give her credit for.
Nevertheless, she continues to haunt my mind. I can’t stop thinking about her. The guilt invading my heart is unlike anything I’ve felt before. I want her. I want to make her all mine. I want to repel her, to tell her to get the fuck away from me.
I’m afraid if I’m put in that position again I’ll cross yet another line. I’m even more afraid that she’ll want it and I’ll have no reason other than my shame to turn her down. I had hoped I was past those passions. Turns out they’re alive and well.
Chapter 12
The surprising thing wasn’t that Vincent still sent her a check via courier mail on Sunday afternoon – because of course a rich guy could make that happen. No, what shocked Nala was the phone call she received late in the morning.
He has never called me before. She stared at his number lighting up the tiny screen on her cell phone. What does he want? Ever since she woke up with a clear head Saturday morning, Nala dreaded talking to the man who fucked her raw.
“Nala,” he said the moment she answered. “I’m glad I got a hold of you. We need to talk.”
Spare me. She sat in the living room, which reeked of Patrick’s leftover pot fest the night before. Or maybe it was that morning. “Not sure I have anything to say to you, sir.”
“Are you mad at me?” Was that a tinge of worry in his voice? Did Master know he messed up by not even letting a girl come on his dick? “Tell me the truth. We need to clear the air right now.”
Nala snorted into the phone. “Mad? Nah, but I feel like you owe me an explanation about what happened.”
“I don’t know what to say other than, I, well…”
“Never mind. What do you want?”
Vincent held back a breath. “I was calling to apologize about what happened. I feel like I owe you a few explanations.”
“Uh huh.” Nala stretched out across the pot-infested couch and stared at the popcorn ceiling. “Go on then. Give me your explanations.”
“I’d rather not discuss it on the phone. I was wondering if you had free time today?”
Nala turned over, burying her face into the back of the couch. “I don’t work today, if that’s what you mean.”
“Great. Got any plans?”
Calm down. A man of his means had some friends, surely. Even the most antisocial billionaire in the world had to have friends. Whether or not they were any good friends was another matter. “No plans, unless you count sleeping on this couch and trying to enjoy my day off for what it is.”
“But you don’t have any concrete plans.”
“Vincent Lane, are you asking me out on a date?”
She said it flippantly, imagining him sitting in his bare office with an unchallenged look on his face. “Is that what you want?” he asked. “For me to take you out on a date?”
Did she want that? Ha, no. She couldn’t imagine her and Vincent on a real date if their lives depended on the charade. Bad enough they were faking the whole thing for an audience to begin with. “I don’t know if the word ‘date’ is what I want, but I would like something more than a rendezvous in your car and dinner in some squared away hole in the wall. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the food was great there, but it takes more than that to impress me. You wanna impress me, right?” Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Lots of men lost interest, let alone interest in impressing women after they had done the deed. Guy’s marked me. All of Portland can smell him on me. Or maybe that was Patrick’s pot. “Let’s go for an outing. Look, the sky has cleared! We could actually do something in this rainy-ass city.”
Vincent made some strange noise on the other end of the line. “Fine. As long as we have a frank discussion somewhere in there.”
“Yeah, whatever. When are you picking me up?”
Something tapped on the window behind her.
Nala pushed herself up on the couch, craning her head around to see a shadowy figure dancing behind the lace curtains. No way. What a fucking creeper. Nala dragged herself off the cushion and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain and staring Vincent right in the Portland-pale face.
“You stalking me?” she said into the phone.
“You could say I was in the area.”
Nala didn’t have much more time to think. She grabbed her wallet out of her bedroom-closet, made sure she had her keys, and locked the front door behind her. It wasn’t as cold today, but she huddled within her hoodie, afraid she would feel as exposed around this man as she had two nights ago.
His car was parked in its usual spot in front of the walkway. Nala beat Vincent to it, waiting for him to unlock the door before flinging it open and hopping in. Still smells like the weirdo. Speaking of weirdos, here he came now, rounding the front of his car and getting in on the driver’s side door.
“You’re… casual, today,” Nala said. She stared at his dark wash jeans and the black, plain hoodie covering his muscles. The only reason she was able to recognize him was because of the strong, musky scent coming her way. Do other women smell that stuff? What about men? Nala couldn’t be the only woman around who was aroused by that scent. Why do I care? Not like he’s my real boyfriend.
“It’s Sunday.” Vincent strapped himself in and started the low purr of the motor. “Not many opportunities to wear a suit on Sunday.”
“Only if we’re going to someone’s sex club.”
“Uh huh.” Vincent placed his hands on the wheel but did not step on the gas. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Hm? Thought you would have a place in mind.”
“Not really.”
Nala
slumped in her seat. Her finger wrapped around the end of her hair and twirled it until she felt the pressure on her scalp. I wonder what it feels like to have my hair pulled… Where did that come from? One moment she was thinking about food and fun, and the next she was back in that sex club, feeling Vincent’s cock swell within her while she imagined her hair tight against her head. “Pull my hair, asshole!” she would cry, and by the cosmos he would.
The man sitting next to her did not look like a man who would go around pulling hair and fucking women from behind. He looked like Average Joe trying to get from the supermarket to the bank before heading home. Not so sexy. Now, if Vincent were in his work clothes, or, better yet, his Aviary attire? Ohoho. Nala was becoming a little too comfortable around that Vincent. This guy looked like he could be her cousin come to pick her up from the mall.
“Take me to your favorite place in Portland.”
“Huh?”
Nala patted his arm and gestured to the steering wheel. “Take me to your favorite place opened on a Sunday. I’m sure a guy like you has his haunts he likes to go to. Pick a place we can chill and talk.”
“My favorite place in Portland…” his mouth twisted, as if to say, “You think such a place exists?” Nala would like to see him try to say that. Even she had her favorite place. It was a park at the end of the street, but it had a great view of downtown. “I’ve never had someone ask me about that before.”
“Well, let’s go.”
“Sure. Let’s.”
It was Nala’s first time seeing the car pull away in broad daylight. From this vantage she could see the undersides of all the trees lining the street. A camera crew wandered up and down the sidewalk, perhaps looking for another scene in Grimm, or one of those other TV shows they filmed in the city. Been late to work more than once because they shut down a street to film. Nala looked away, catching Vincent’s profile as his head emerged from his hoodie. Shorn dark hair glistened in, what, sweat? Rain? The man was so tragically casual that it was hard to tell. You’d never guess he was a billionaire looking at him. Nala had to be careful. Hanging around men dressed like this made her drop her guard. At least when Vincent was in a suit she felt no need to open up or order him around.