by R. K. Lilley
I pulled my face away to look at her as my hands went still, stopping her on the brink.
I didn't have to tell her. She knew what to do.
She begged.
With a smile, I pulled my fingers loose.
She cried out a protest that I had expected. Anticipated.
I wanted to be inside of her before she got off. I wasn't stingy with her pleasure, but it'd been too long, and I couldn't wait even a few more minutes to take my own.
My dick was already out and ready, but I shrugged off my shirt as I stood.
I didn't take off her dress, but pulled the front between her breasts, baring them for my eyes. At the sight, I moaned, and shook, and bent to suck the tip of one quivering globe into my mouth with enough pressure to make her cry out hoarsely. I palmed the other one, filling my hand and squeezing her pliant flesh.
With a curse, I found the buttons at the back of her neck, and pulled the top down, baring her torso. I pushed her tits together, then loudly sucked my way from one to the other.
She panted my name, still begging.
I straightened with a curse and obliged.
I met her devastating eyes as I plunged into her, filling her at last. Her tight cunt enfolded me with a welcoming grip. It was pure heaven to feel what I'd only been able to fantasize about so vividly these past torturous weeks.
Neither of us could stay quiet. A few cursing, groaning, moaning thrusts later, and I laid her back, pulling her hips forward.
"Arms above your head," I told her gruffly, watching her tits move while she did it. "Keep them there," I told her, eyes moving back to her face as I leaned forward to press my chest to hers, lining us up until my face was just inches from hers.
I kissed her mouth with the barest touch, more sweet than passionate.
It was all I would get for a great while, as that was one of the injured areas. Her lips looked fine, still lush and whole, but inside I knew that several of her teeth had been reconstructed, along with half of her jaw. It would take quite some time for her to fully heal.
Even the reminder of her grisly wounds didn't slow my ardor that time. I was already moving my hips in earnest, rutting in her with near mindless abandon.
I watched her eyes as I moved, trying my damnedest to wait for her release.
It was a close thing. I could have come the second the tip of my cock made direct contact with her cunt.
I let myself go the instant I felt her tight sheath begin to squeeze me as she orgasmed. I emptied deep inside of her, pumping out every last bit, still going for minutes afterwards, rubbing it all out, every drop.
I kissed her softly on the mouth again, just the briefest touch before I pulled her dress from where it was bunched at her waist, dragged it down her hips and off her, and tossed it over my shoulder.
I took my mouth to her body again, devouring every available inch of her trembling alabaster skin.
I partook of her like a man starved. Not one bit of her was safe from the base of her jaw to the bottom of her feet.
I pulled out of her as I moved lower, and we both moaned at the loss.
Her arms were still drawn obediently above her head as I suckled my way down to her navel, nuzzling, licking, kissing, inhaling.
I was panting like I'd sprinted a mile when I came up for air. "Let's go to bed," I told her, voice thick.
The damage was done, the dam broken open, and as I'd known, once I started, I was unable to stop. I'd wear us both out, rub us raw, before I had my fill.
I straightened, my heavy-lidded eyes fixed with obsessive attention on her pink sex as she lowered her arms and sat up.
Something caught my attention, out of the corner of my eye.
My brows drew together as I turned my head slightly to look.
My eye caught and fixated on a tiny drop of blood that had fallen from one of her closed fists, and dripped onto the edge of the desk.
My breath caught, and I grabbed one of her hands, prying it open. I found a bloody mess inside, four deep crescent marks cut into her flesh.
With a savage curse, I checked her other hand. It was the same.
I couldn't even look at her face as I darted away, rushing to grab the first aid kit.
I didn't speak as I tended her wounds, my jaw clenched hard to keep any condemning words from lashing out of me.
Finally, when I was finished, and felt I'd adequately calmed myself, I looked up at her and asked, "Did you do that deliberately?"
She just stared at me for the longest time, her face enigmatic.
Licking her lips, she nodded.
It made me feel desperate and a touch enraged.
Had I made her like this? She'd had a clear leaning when she met me, yes, but I was worried that this was new territory, where she needed the pain with the pleasure. Required it.
Had this always been the case, or was I just now seeing it?
It had always been there, to some degree, I realized, but was it getting worse?
I took a few deep, steadying breaths, to manage my anger. It was a sharp anger that came from a gripping fear.
I had to be good for her, needed to be, like nothing I'd ever needed before.
But if ever there was evidence to the contrary, this was it.
My voice, when I spoke, was hard and cold with an authority that I needed her to respond to accordingly. "You do not hurt yourself, do you understand me? And there are things that we never do." My tone went from cold to harsh. "We do not draw blood. We do not puncture. Those are not healthy outlets for what we feel or need. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her breath catching. "It was just . . . it's been too long. I've become addicted to this feeling. I was trying to draw it out, and I went too far. I should have done what you were doing, weeks ago, and just started getting myself off in the shower."
I didn't know what to make of that. She always knew how to throw me.
What she couldn't understand was that it made me panicky to think I'd disappoint her in this. She was a natural, a true purist to the lifestyle, and it terrified me.
I knew she enjoyed the sensation of pain far more than I could ever bear to hurt her. She didn't use her safe word, so I had to be the one to judge the limit for both of us.
I was horrified by that.
And more turned on by it than any other thing I'd experienced in my life.
I set my jaw. "Don't do anything like that again. Understand?"
She nodded.
"Say it out loud."
"I won't hurt myself again. I'll show more restraint."
I kept staring at her, my eyes silently chastising her.
"I swear it, Mr. Cavendish."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MY ACUTE ITCH
PAST
JAMES
I took in the room, scratching at the scars on my wrists absently. They weren't fresh scars, had been healed over for years now, but they still bothered me.
I made myself stop, as I always did, lest I make the embarrassing marks even more noticeable.
I moved over to a particularly interesting demonstration, one of several placed throughout the room.
A man had a woman bound to a thick wooden post. He was thrashing her enthusiastically.
It made my blood pump hard through my veins. I'd come to the right place, I had no doubt.
I'd been fixated on BDSM for quite a while, and now that I was eighteen, I was allowed into some of the more hardcore clubs.
I hadn't done much. Some spanking, a lot of dirty kinky talk, and a completely excessive amount of bondage. Even the most vanilla of vanilla girls could usually be talked into letting me tie them up.
I'd done all of the usual kinky stuff.
But I didn't want the usual. I wanted the exceptional, a much heavier dose of the thing that I'd come to obsess about—to crave. I needed more.
It was the most acute sort of itch, the kind that made that first scratch feel so good, like nothing else, so good that once you started scratch
ing, you scratched it raw, consequences be damned.
I was a man of extremes, and I scratched it bloody.
Inside of me was an anger, a rage, an inferno of it, one that didn't need fuel. It never had, that I could remember. It seemed to feed on itself.
It would never go away, but every ounce of control I exerted and maintained made it more bearable. So much of this, of all of the things I did with my body, was about control.
There was a hot young thing standing next to me, watching the couple on stage. It took me about half a second to notice her, and when I did, I turned with a smile, sizing her up.
She wore an interesting series of leather straps, nipple clamps, and thigh high boots.
I wasn't completely ignorant about this lifestyle. I knew about subs and Doms, and I knew that this hot young thing was the former, and I was the latter.
It all seemed pretty simple to me.
"I'm James," I told her, leaning close.
She started, gave me wide eyes, and leaned right back, bringing our faces close. "I'm Rose. Do you have a sponsor?"
"Excuse me?"
"Someone to introduce us."
I shook my head, leaning closer. "I don't. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rose," I lowered my voice into a conspiratorial whisper, "See what I did there? We can introduce ourselves."
"Oh," she said, biting her lip. I could tell she wanted me, and I doubted she'd tell me no.
"Are you with anyone?" I asked her, to be polite. I didn't know the rules here, so I just went with the usual.
She shook her head.
"Do you want to fuck?"
She gasped at the crude question.
I smiled, enjoying the shock on her face. "I'd like to do more. I'd like to tie you to one of these displays in here and put on a demonstration of our own, eventually, but right now, I'm horny, and all of that can wait. So what do you say, Rose? You want to fuck?"
With one more trembling gasp, she nodded.
I had her propped up on a table that held an impressive assortment of floggers. I was on the tail end of fucking her silly, in fact had just made her come, when I heard a throat clearing loudly behind me.
With only the vaguest twinge of annoyance at the interruption, I held up a finger, indicating I'd be with them in just a moment, and finished.
I pulled out, removed the condom, threw it away in a wastebasket just under the table, and tucked myself back into my pants before finally looking at the intruder.
It was a small, beautiful woman. She had masses of ink black hair and had collected an impressive amount of ink on her arms.
She did not look pleased.
I gave her a bland smile. "Can I help you?"
"You're new," she observed.
"Yes. I'm James. Nice to meet you."
She shook her head, looking exasperated. She shot Rose a look. "Get cleaned up, sweetie," she told her, tone soft. "This wasn't your fault."
Rose left, shooting me one last longing look over her shoulder. I gave her a smile that let her know I wasn't finished with her.
"You do realize that what you just did could get you kicked you out of this circle indefinitely."
I cocked my head to the side. "Interesting. Which part?"
"Approaching a sub without a sponsor. This is not a pick up joint. This is not a place where you can operate how you normally do."
"She was amenable."
"That is not the point."
I gave her a wicked grin. "You look like you could use a good fuck, too. I've been remiss. You're a beautiful woman. I'm sure we can figure out a solution here."
She was shaking her head before I'd finished. "You really are new at this, huh?"
"Yes. I just saw this club here with a triskele over the door, figured what the hell, I'll give it a shot."
"If you can't take this at all seriously, you might as well go."
I flashed her a conciliatory smile. "I'm only kidding. I meant no harm. What's your name?"
She smiled back warmly. "I'm Frankie. And I'm going to do you a huge favor, James."
It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest a specific sexual favor that I wouldn't mind from her, but I held it in. "What favor would that be?"
"I'm going to take you under my wing, before you get yourself into trouble. You can thank me later."
Turns out, I did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MY OWNERSHIP
PRESENT
For a long time, after the shooting, I couldn't sleep through the night.
Bianca slept like a baby most nights, like she never had before, like every worry she'd ever had had disappeared with the death of her father.
But not me. I was more restless than ever. A miracle had saved her, not me, and I felt helpless because of it.
It was not a feeling that fit me well.
In fact, it made my skin crawl in discomfort. In anger.
It had been months since the attack. She and Stephan were healed physically, and, it seemed emotionally, but I felt the wounds as though they were fresh. What had almost happened haunted me. I was a man that needed control, and I'd been shown, in the starkest way possible, that I had none.
I sat scant feet away from our bed, watching Bianca sleep. She was nude, with not so much as a sheet covering her. I'd seen to that. I watched her lithe form shift on the bed, one long leg hitching up to give me a glimpse of the pink between her legs.
I felt like a fucking stalker.
In fact, I was one, watching her for hours on end, night after night.
I tensed when I realized she'd roused. It disturbed her that I couldn't sleep, when she deserved peace more than anyone did.
She sat up, and I watched her heavy breasts swaying with the movement. "James." Her voice was the softest utterance.
"Love," I answered, feeling the dark mood that had overtaken me lift in an instant. Just having her eyes on me could do that.
She crawled across the bed toward me. She'd always had an uncanny ability to do exactly the thing that would drive me the most wild, and she'd only gotten better at that over time. She didn't hide her body from me as she moved. In fact, she posed for me, even the exposure of her body an act of submission. As though reading my thoughts, as though even those were a command, she paused on the edge of the bed, parting her legs to let me look my fill before she rose, approaching my chair.
I stood to meet her, my body drawn tight, my cock throbbing as though I hadn't come, buried inside of her, just hours before.
I was a statue as she leaned up to my ear, my brows drawing together in a question. Her lips touched my ear as she spoke.
"Hurt me," she whispered raggedly.
My eyes shut tight, my jaw went slack, and a shudder wracked my entire body.
I'd avoided all of the rough stuff since she'd been injured, but God had I missed it.
"We don't have to, Bianca. It's not necess—"
She gripped my hair, pulling my face down to her injured cheek. She dug her jaw into me so hard that I knew it must have hurt her badly. It was nearly healed now, but I knew it was still tender.
"I need it," she rasped into my ear. "I'll never stop needing it. Please."
I pulled back, and my hands trembled as I cupped her face in my hands, my eyes searching hers desperately for what I wanted to see. Need. Yes. She needed this as much as I did. More so.
"Get on the bed," I told her thickly.
She obeyed, backing away from me, keeping her eyes on me the entire time.
"On your back. Spread your legs. Wider. Arms above your head."
We were at the Vegas property, no fourth floor in sight, and so I only had to walk to a dresser to find what I needed.
I was uncharacteristically clumsy as I bound her to the bed. I wanted so badly for everything to be perfect, to the point that I was nervous about it.
Her arms went directly above her head, drawn together, and knotted to the headboard.
Her feet I drew wide apart, spreading her legs until I stretched
her. I ran a finger across one tautly drawn inner thigh, shuddering in pleasure at the way it made her quake under my hands.
I bent and kissed the spot briefly. "So sensitive here," I murmured into her skin. I knew just where to start.
I stood back and watched her when I'd finished with her restraints, my lids heavy, my blood pounding.
Every ounce of nervousness left me at the sight. The sight of her bound both soothed and enflamed me.
She gazed back at me steadily, her body shifting restlessly, hips tilting, breasts heaving, pink flesh wet and exposed.
I chose a simple leather flogger, a delicate cat o'nine, to break her back in again.
I propped myself on an elbow between her legs, dragging the flogger's thin tails along the sheets, teasing it across her inner thighs.
Abruptly, I snapped it up and back, watching her face as I struck the bed.
She jerked, giving me wild eyes when she realized I hadn't touched her.
I gave her a smile that made her squirm, back to dragging the tails against her sensitive flesh, back and forth, from knee to groin.
The torment of anticipation was every bit as sweet as the bite of the whip.
My cock pulsed, my heart pounded.
With a wicked grin, I snapped the tails against the bed again. Hard.
She gasped, hips circling.
I trailed the flogger up her leg, passed it briefly over her sex, moving it toward her belly.
I met her eyes as I flipped it, suddenly and abruptly, whipping it back to lash her inner thigh with a quick flick of my wrist.
She jerked and moaned.
I swung my wrist again, catching her other thigh, then slowly, almost lazily, I began to whip it back and forth.
I never rose off my elbow, never used my other hand as I slowly tenderized her pale flesh.
It was not a punishment. We had worked beyond that. This was so much more than the usual game of bondage and submission.
Bianca was a purist of the form, a masochist that enjoyed being dominated sexually.
We needed no artifice, no little lines to justify the things we needed from each other.
I looked down at her thighs, watching the whip as I set to work on her in earnest.
Her inner thighs, from a few inches above her knees to just below her groin, were pink with lash marks by the time I finished.