Hands stroked over her ass and cool air made her skin pebble as the skirts were pushed over her back.
“Do you mind?” Around Micah’s cock, she moaned in agreement. “I want a fast fuck without having to take my clothes off. Your sweet cunny is here, available. I thought you’d let me have you again.”
Reaching under her, Micah again freed her breasts from the bodice and pinched her nipples while she sucked him. “Don’t come, lass. You’re not allowed until we fill you up. Do you understand?”
She moaned as Max’s cock pushed deep and Micah held her head still to fuck her mouth.
It took a long time for them to come. By the time she swallowed around Micah’s throbbing length and Max’s come was being pressed from her body with his every thrust, she felt like she’d shake apart with the need to climax.
Her hands trembled as she licked him clean and tucked his cock back in his slacks. Max wiped her pussy with a cool cloth and helped her straighten.
“You’ve made us very happy, sweet girl.” To her shock, Max hopped up on the table and laid down. With a grin, he held out his hand. “Your turn.”
Micah lifted her and settled her over Max’s mouth on her knees. “Ride it like you stole it, lass.”
Desperate, she worked her pussy against his willing lips and ripped at the costume. “I want ta see yer face while I ride yer mouth. Help me.”
Pulling the ribbons holding it snug, Micah pulled it over her head. She sighed happily and raked her fingers through Max’s hair. “There ye are, milord. I’m desperate.”
At her side, Micah kissed his way up her neck. “Do your worst, love. Take what you need.” His fingers pressed into her pussy from behind and she groaned loudly. “That’s the way, pretty girl. All for you.”
“Harder. Do it harder while I grind on him.” The sound of her slick skin sliding over Max’s face was loud in the quiet penthouse. Micah’s fingers driving deep to the same rhythm made her skin feel too tight. “Feels so fuckin’ good, master. Don’t stop.”
“Come all over his face, lass. Look at those pretty tits bouncing while you fuck his mouth. Here it comes. Oh yeah, that’s beautiful to watch.”
She came so hard she was lightheaded. Shaking and still working herself on Max. It took several minutes for her to be able to speak or move.
Gathering her in his arms, Micah carried her upstairs. They stripped and sank into the big tub when it was ready. She loved being held between them.
“Sweet Riya,” Max moaned against her neck. “You’ll kill us with pleasure.” He kissed her slow and easy. “Precisely the way I’d choose to go.”
Micah laughed. “Between the books, the blog, your friends, and the attention you give us, I’m not sure where the fuck you find the time for role-play afternoons, love.”
Riya kissed him deeply and sat back with a smile. “I love me beautiful and benevolent masters.” She sank deeper in the water with a sigh. “And I multi-task like a motherfucker.”
Clean
New York City - December 2013
Sierra stumbled toward her apartment. Another late night filled with too much partying.
When her next-door neighbor swept into the hall, she couldn’t avoid a collision. Strong hands came up to grip her arms, to steady her.
“You alright?” he asked abruptly.
She nodded, unusually embarrassed. She reeked of booze, smoke, and sweat. Her reflection in his elegant glasses showed a woman who looked cheap and used up. Dirty.
“I-I’m sorry, Paul.” He frowned and set her carefully away from him.
“No harm done.” Locking his door, he nodded at her and said curtly, “Have a good day, Sierra.”
Then he was gone, a man in finely tailored business wear, a suit jacket over one arm. Gorgeous.
She’d never heard him cuss, seen him less than perfectly turned out, or heard a single complaint about him from the other residents.
The same could not be said about her.
She made it inside her apartment and stared at her reflection in the foyer mirror. She looked like shit. In a less-respectable neighborhood, she’d be mistaken for a prostitute.
Had she really dropped almost a grand over the last eight hours on a good time for her friends? Yes, she had. Her posse had no shame using her money.
Her parents hadn’t raised her like this.
They were valued members of the community back in Tyler, Texas. Her dad started on the rigs forty years ago and now ran one of the biggest drilling companies in North America. Her mother gave as many hours to her charity work as a full-time job. She considered it her duty.
They laughed and loved like no two people she’d ever known.
Sierra arrived in New York to attend college on her father’s dime. She did well in her business classes until her first trust fund deposited when she was twenty-one.
She partied until she was thrown out of school. She slept all day and partied all night ever since.
When was the last time she thought of someone other than herself?
How had it gotten so bad that she couldn’t look a nice male in the eye without shame? If her parents showed up this minute, what would they think?
She was twenty-six. She’d wasted years. It was so easy. It wasn’t going to be so easy to stop.
* * *
Six months later…
No voicemails, no email, no texts.
Her phone battery lasted forever now that she wasn’t sending and receiving hundreds of inane messages daily.
She hadn’t talked to any of her old friends in months. What fun was somebody who didn’t drink anything stronger than iced tea and called it a night when drugs appeared?
The first time she hadn’t picked up the tab was the final nail in the coffin of her prior social life.
Her only attraction was free-flowing cash and a laughing dismissal of all behavior, no matter how destructive. She wasn’t that person anymore. She no longer knew who she was…but she knew who she wasn’t.
Picking up her messenger bag, she headed out.
She was dressed in jeans, a sweater, and boots to combat the chill fall weather. Her hair was in a messy bun, a look the Sierra of six months prior wouldn’t have considered wearing out in public. She wore no makeup.
Her only jewelry was the locket her mother gave her when she turned sixteen. It took her hours to find it; she hadn’t worn the necklace in years.
That day, she’d been shaking from the lack of booze and pills in her system. She didn’t shake anymore. AA meetings three nights a week helped.
Heading for the elevator, she passed Paul in the hall and kept her eyes downcast, unwilling to meet his gaze.
She needed to get to class anyway.
Three more credits and she’d have her business degree at last. Screwing up her senior year was one of many stupid decisions.
Pushing the call button, she kept her head down until the doors closed. Only then could she release the breath she held.
* * *
Class, coffee, the library, picking up takeout, and checking her mail. The day was tiring but productive.
She smiled at Carlo as she crossed the lobby and he returned it. There was a time the concierge’s expressions were more worried than friendly.
She noticed a lot more now that she was sober. There were days she could barely stand the person she’d been.
In the elevator, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Home would soothe her. The cleaning service would’ve been in earlier.
A nice soak was in order before she put the finishing touches on her business ethics paper.
Moving everything to one hand, she worked to get her keys out of her bag. Mail hit the floor and she almost dropped her dinner. A large hand caught it, another scooped up the envelopes. Lifting her gaze, she stared into dark green eyes.
“Paul. Hi. Thanks.” She opened her door and turned to take her things.
“You look great, Sierra.”
Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Th
ank you.”
Her bag went on the foyer table. She flipped a switch and soft lighting flared through the darkened rooms. He handed her the mail but not the Chinese takeout.
“Do you eat out every night?”
“I don’t…I don’t have time to cook.” Her words were self-conscious, she was self-conscious around this man. She shrugged. “It’s just…easier to get takeout.”
He blinked once, she noticed from the corner of her eye. She focused on the wall behind him.
“Why won’t you look at me, Sierra?”
Her hazel eyes flickered but didn’t meet his. “Do you need to ask?” she asked him sharply. “I know what you must think of me.”
He moved into her foyer, put the food down on her entry table, and closed the door. He stood close, taller by several inches despite her boots.
“You know what I’m thinking when I look at you?” He reached out and lifted her bag away, leaning it against the table on the floor. She nodded stiffly. “Hmm, so you know I admire you?”
Sierra’s eyes shot to his in confusion, his finger stroked her jaw.
“That I know the pain you went through to take back your life?” Paul leaned in, brushing his lips lightly over hers. “How I think about kissing you? That I imagine holding you close, both of us naked as I bury my cock deep inside you, making you mine?” Both palms cupped her face. “Even when you were lost, I saw you, Sierra. I’m glad you finally did.”
“You…want me?”
“All of you. Yes. Since you moved in. More since I watched you fight your demons alone.” He brushed kisses over her eyes, nose, and mouth. “You’re strong and smart. Both attributes I find incredibly sexy.”
Her lips kicked up on one side. “I don’t drink anymore but I still have attitude, like to dance, and wear risqué clothes when I need to feel better.”
“Excellent. I work too much, tend to be bossy, and plan to fuck you until you scream my name.” One brow lifted in arrogant male confidence as he moved his lips along her jaw to her neck.
She moaned then chuckled softly. “I’m not usually a screamer. You’d best get started.”
Cubicle Neighbors
New York City – December 2013
We’ve worked together for four years, separated by a fabric colored cubicle wall. I can hear when you’re on the phone with clients.
I love the sound of your voice.
Last year, you went through an ugly divorce when you found out your husband was cheating and I listened as you struggled for months to deal.
I felt strangled with the need to hug you, just hug you, and tell you that you were too good for him anyway and everything would be alright.
I hate the sound of your tears.
Today, for the first time, you looked at me and it was different than all the other times our eyes have met.
You ask if I have plans for lunch and I shake my head, struck dumb with the shock of the question. You offer to take me and I manage to nod.
Your smile is brilliant and steals my breath.
We walk to the elevator and I remind myself that you aren’t mine, that I can’t take your hand. Your head barely reaches my shoulder and I’m reminded that I’m tall and gangly.
As we step inside and the doors slide shut, you turn toward me and I’m so distracted by the green of your eyes that I miss your question. You repeat it with a blush.
“Will you kiss me?”
For four years, I’ve dreamed of the words and I’m terrified of misunderstanding you, scaring you, and losing the first chance I’ve been given.
I inhale carefully and cup your warm cheeks in my hands. I can palm your skull and I’m more careful than I’ve ever been with a woman.
My thumbs stroke over skin that’s unbelievably soft as I stare into your eyes and give you the chance to change your mind.
You don’t.
Bending slightly, I touch my lips to yours and you sigh against my mouth. Kissing you is so much more than I imagined.
Your response, instant and unmistakable, is beyond every daydream I’ve experienced. Your hands reach for me, sliding over my shoulders to pull me closer, as your lips part and your tongue meets mine.
The kiss is magnificent, hot, and far too short as the elevator doors begin to open.
You look at me, smile, and take my hand.
Rage
Africa – December 2013
Roark hated having to restrain him. He’d been through hell enough already.
For the safety of the team, they had no choice. The rage filling him was completely out of his control. He was a danger to himself and others.
To get him out of the pit he’d been thrown into, Roark rappelled thirty feet below the fighting ring. Wild, blinded from the smallest amount of light, the young man fought violently for a long time.
He was filthy, bloody, and severely malnourished. Despite the chill of the pit, he wore nothing but ripped and dirty shorts.
Knowing time was critical, Roark punched him in the jaw to knock him out. Tying him to his body, he got him to the surface. When they were clear of the edge, he removed the ropes and carried him to their transport vehicle personally.
The men who ran this nightmare used human beings as training dummies, as test subjects for weapons, as entertainment when they made them fight, and as sexual objects when they felt like it.
After he secured his rescue and left one of the others to watch over him, he walked through the facility carved into the earth and shot every one of his captors.
Some of them were in handcuffs but it didn’t matter.
None of them were going to keep breathing after what they’d done to their victims.
As he racked another magazine in place, Gear approached cautiously. “Ye good, Roar?”
“I will be.”
Then he went back to executing scum that shouldn’t even classify as human. When the last one fell from a single bullet to the brain – far more merciful than any of them deserved – he turned to a man he’d known most of his life.
“Now I’m better. Throw their bodies in one of the pits. Light it up and let’s move out.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the Hummer, he sat beside his last rescue. Each time the smaller man started to freak out from the noise and movement, he’d rest his hand over his bound wrists until he calmed again.
His speech was rudimentary at best and it was clear that he’d spent most of his life in a cage.
None of his team questioned the fact that Roark took responsibility for the man. No one said a word when he worked to clean him, to feed him, to show him how to use modern plumbing.
He pointed to his own chest. “Roark.” Repeating it several times while he did what he could to help him, the other man’s expression was intense. “Roark.”
“Ashok.” It was the first intelligible word he uttered. “Ashok.”
Raised in captivity, lights and sounds startled him. Electricity was an unknown. Back at their temporary base, Roark filled a huge tub with water and led him to it.
Confused and afraid, Roark lifted him in and crouched beside him. For several minutes, he sat frozen and uncertain.
Then silent tears tracked down his cheeks.
In that moment, so many things in Roark’s life made sense. As if he’d been preparing for this time, this human being to make an appearance.
Moving slowly, he showed him how to use soap and a rag to wash his skin by demonstrating on an arm covered in scars that didn’t bear thinking about.
Draining the water, he ran fresh and the young man was captivated by it. Holding his hands beneath the stream, he smelled it, brought it to his face, and licked it.
Everything Roark did, everything he showed him, he gave him the word in English and Hindi.
They’d rescued him from a compound in Northwest Africa but he spoke the language of the only person who’d ever tended him. An elderly man from India, nearly blind, was tasked with feeding the men and women kept underground.
; A slave himself, he spent three decades showing his charges the only kindnesses they’d ever known. The very old man was in custody, answering as many of their questions as he could.
Over the time they spent at the seventh base he’d occupied in a year, Roark taught him hygiene, how to wear clothing, and helped him adjust to life above ground.
At night, Roark tucked him in, covered him carefully, and restrained him in the softest bindings he could find.
The first several times, Ashok panicked but he’d sit beside him, holding his hand, until he calmed.
He moved his gear to the bunk beside his charge and talked to him when nightmares woke him violently. Ashok might not understand his words but he responded well to them.
On the third day of freedom for the men and women they rescued, Mala Kauffman was flown in to evaluate their physical condition. Her calm demeanor helped eased the young man as she examined him gently and spoke in soft, soothing tones.
After taking his vitals and checking the condition of his teeth, bones, and skin, she gave him injections that included necessary vaccinations, antibiotics, and a sedative.
Roark held his hand as he slipped into drug-induced sleep.
Inhaling carefully, she worked Ashok’s sweatpants down so she could examine his lower body. The scarring around his anus proclaimed the extreme sexual abuse he’d endured in addition to the physical torture.
Glancing up, there were tears in her eyes. “Every single man has genital scarring. Each had their testicles bound with copper wire. I can’t even get near the females. Those bastards.”
She added quietly, “Many of them will be infertile but full castration likely resulted in too many deaths. They could’ve put herbs in their fucking food instead of this.”
He nodded and watched her remove a pair of fine wire cutters from her bag.
“You’ll have to hold him down.” Leaning over, she pressed the fragile skin as firmly as she could to make a tiny space to slip the wire cutters in place. “Even sedated, the rush of blood is going to hurt him, Roark. I’ve given him a local for the surface skin damage. I can’t fully anesthetize him in his condition. I don’t know what it would do to his heart.”
The Barter System Companion: Volume One Page 22