by Holly Hart
“Yes,” I yelp. But the words don’t matter. I would say anything, do anything to keep Harlan going right now – because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
This is it.
Harlan’s finger enters me, and takes my breath away. It’s rough and dominant and aggressive, and I moan with anticipation. He probes inside me, grinding his palm against my clit. The vibrations don’t stop. They are like a tidal wave, just hitting and hitting and hitting against my most sensitive part.
“I’m so close,” I moan, pushing my head forward in search of Harlan’s lips.
But I only meet empty air.
“Please, Harlan,” I say. “Please, just fuck me.”
“You think you’re ready?”
“Yes…” I whimper, “more sure than I’ve ever been of anything.”
“That’s good enough for me,” he says.
He clicks the vibrator off, and tosses it somewhere behind him. It bounces off the carpet and I hear it come to a halt. Then, as I’m panting from the absence of the vibrations, I sense him withdraw his finger. I swear my pussy resists him, as if it doesn’t want to let go.
“Prove it,” Harlan growls, his voice a low, rumbling, wolf-like threat that pushes me half way to orgasm all on its own.
“Anything…”
“Taste yourself,” he says, trailing a wet finger across my lower lip. I lick it, greedily sucking up my own juices.
“No. Suck it.” My tongue searches for his finger, and as soon as I’ve found it, I grab it with my teeth, pulling my neck back to force the fingers into my mouth.
I suck it clean. It feels filthy and degrading, and oh so fucking perfect.
“Now,” I moan, losing all sense of decorum. If I was ever a Lady with a capital L, I sure as heck am not now. “Will you please fucking fuck me?”
“Well…” Harlan chuckles, “when you put it so politely…”
But he does as I ask. I feel his hands on the straps at my legs, and then they are loose, and next so are my arms. He carries me, throwing me over his shoulder, then down onto a mattress.
It all happens in a flash.
I can’t see my lover, but my hands search greedily for his belt regardless. I make a tiny fist of satisfaction as I realize he’s not wearing one, and undo his tuxedo pants.
He knocks my fingers aside.
“Let me do it,” he whispers hungrily. “It’ll be quicker that way.”
Hell, I’m not complaining. The sooner I feel Harlan’s thick cock between my legs, the better. For both of us.
In seconds – it seems so, anyway – Harlan is completely naked. As far as I can tell, the only item of clothing either of us is wearing is the blindfold wrapped around my eyes. I reach up to tear it off, but Harlan stops me in my tracks, pressing his lips against mine.
“No,” he says, the heat of his breath caressing my skin as he pulls away from the kiss. “Leave it on. I like the way you look wearing it.”
I don’t complain. Everything feels hotter, sexier, better when I’m wearing this blindfold. Every sense is stronger, every sensation magnified a thousand times.
The mattress groans as Harlan reaches for something.
“Where are you going?” I pant, desperate to finally be close to this man. To be one with this man.
“To get a condom,” he grunts.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“More sure than I’ve been of anything in my entire life,” I say with absolute, undying honesty. It’s crazy. Hell, the details don’t make any sense. What if I truly did fall pregnant – how would that work with Poppy, and –
But none of that matters right now. Harlan drives forward, guiding his cock between my legs. My eyes water, and then he’s inside me, and then it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.
From the moment Harlan enters me, I know this time is different.
This time is it.
He lifts his hand around the back of my neck, and squeezes it tight, holding on for leverage. He thrusts inside me, driving his hips toward mine. I moan with pleasure as fireworks explode behind my closed eyes. The explosions are more vibrant than I could ever have imagined.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper. “Don’t you dare fucking stop…”
I don’t know who this Skye is. She’s swearing like a sailor, begging Harlan to do things that a couple of weeks ago she’d have flushed even thinking of. But I like her. She knows what she wants, and she’s prepared to do whatever it takes to get there.
And so, apparently, does Harlan.
His fingernails dig into my skin as he scrapes his free hand down my body. His mouth dips to my nipples, teasing them with his tongue as his hips thrust with unbelievable force into me.
Every muscle on his body feels tense, taut. In a couple of seconds, so are mine. I feel a sensation inside me that’s hard to describe – a pressure, a fire, burning, squeezing, and pressing all at once.
“Oh my God, Harlan,” I whimper. “Don’t–”
He takes my half-formed sentences as encouragement. I’m glad one of us is thinking straight.
“Come for me,” he begs – or maybe orders – me. “Come for me, Skye. Give in.”
I do. My body goes rigid as blackness breaks out in my mind. Fire seems to burn on every inch of my skin, and my nipples become globes of pleasure and pain and every sensation in between.
Harlan’s throat gurgles with happiness as he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t stop, even though I’m almost too far gone to understand what’s happening.
But a part of me knows. He’s doing exactly what I wanted.
He’s going to come with me.
His hips keep driving until it happens. The hand cupping my neck squeezes tight, his fingernails digging in, and his voice chokes with desire.
“Jesus, Skye,” he groans. “I’m–”
I don’t have to listen to his words to know what happens. I feel an unbelievable heat surging from his cock, and I realize what’s happening. I loop my arms around his body, and feel his ridged muscles become more tense, more solid than anything I’ve ever touched in my life.
And that’s when the orgasm really hits. The thing that came before – whatever it was – was just a mirage.
This is the real fucking deal.
I lose myself, lose my sense of time. Lose everything but this, right here, right now. Harlan’s heat, my heat, and the sweat, taste and sensation of pure happiness.
And, above all else, is the tidal wave of nerve endings, exploding all over my body – a tidal wave of unadulterated pleasure.
The happiness takes an age to fade. So do the aftershocks. Part of me hopes that neither will ever end. But eventually, unwillingly, my eyes flutter open. I see Harlan at my side, propped up by his elbow. He’s smiling foolishly, as if he can’t believe his luck.
I’ve got a funny feeling I might look the same way.
I cast my eyes around the bedroom, The Sex Room. My nickname for it seems even more apt after what we just did together! In the cold, post-orgasm light of day, it doesn’t seem as magical as it did before.
Heck, even the grate over the air-conditioning vent is loose. I squint at it. It seems out of place, especially given how neat everything else is in here. How perfect.
“What are you staring at?” Harlan grunts with his eyes half-lidded with sleep.
“I don’t –”
My eyes widen. I sit up in bed, stark naked, my back completely straight.
“What’s wrong –?”
“Did you film this?” I yelp. I know I’ve undressed on camera for Harlan before, but this feels different. It feels like a violation.
“Huh?” Harlan mutters sleepily, sounding so confused I know immediately he has no idea what I’m talking about.
And that makes it even worse…
My blood runs cold.
“Harlan… There’s a camera inside that vent.”
228
Harlan
If my muscles were tigh
t and tense before Skye’s discovery of the camera, that’s nothing compared to how taut they are now. I jump off the bed, fully naked, fists bunched with anger.
“Who, the fuck, did this?”
I growl, grab a stool – whose intended purpose I can’t fathom – and throw it in the general direction of the offending air conditioning vent. The stool topples over, and I bound toward it, muscles filled with an energy created from pure rage.
Behind me, I hear the sheets rustle as Skye dives to cover herself up.
“What’s happening? Harlan?” Skye asks. “Who…?”
Her voice is quiet … broken, even. That sound hurts me more than I can possibly describe. Just a moment ago, Skye finally became the woman she has always projected she could be. I felt her change … felt her grow in confidence.
Now there’s this.
I swear, the second I find the person who has threatened my gorgeous girl, I’m going to end him.
I put the stool back upright.
“I don’t know, Skye,” I mutter darkly as I climb onto it and hoist myself up to the height of the grate covering the vent. “But I promise you, the second I find out who’s responsible for this, I’ll find them and end this. There’s no way these photos are getting out. Don’t you worry about that happening.”
“How can I not?” Skye says, her voice brave, yet nevertheless plaintive with worry. “It’s not my embarrassment I’m worried about, Harlan. I’m a big girl. It won’t be easy, but I can handle it. It’s what happens if they get out … in public.”
I grip the grate, and test its thin metal bars. Satisfied, I apply my full weight, and tear the flimsy construction fully off the wall.
I reach inside, anger still smoldering like a burning wildfire, threatening to break out into flames at any moment. I grab the camera and pull.
“Did you hear me, Harlan?” Skye asks.
“Yes,” I growl. “I heard you.”
I hop off the stool, holding the spy camera in my hand. It’s a miracle Skye was able to pick the tiny black device out from its hiding place – there’s no way I would have seen it. It’s attached to a black wire and – my heart sinks – a transceiver. The photos are long gone.
“Shit.”
“Shit?” Skye repeats. “What do you mean, shit? That doesn’t sound good…”
“It’s not,” I mutter, tearing the wire and the camera apart. A shard of plastic flies off in my hands, and I toss the broken device onto the floor. I stare at it. Now in pieces, it’s hard to believe that such a tiny thing can hold so much power, the power to change both of our lives forever.
But it does.
I know from experience that there’s no use digging into where the device came from. It’s high-tech, sure, but it’s military-grade. There’s no way I’ll find something as useful as a serial number to trace who sold it, let alone be able to track down the transceiver signal.
No, whoever took these photos will be miles away by now. They probably stomped the gas the second Skye and I came together.
“You know what this means, right?” Skye says. “The second someone uploads those photos onto the Internet, my career’s over. If the Board finds out I slept with the patient…” She squeezes her eyes shut, grimacing in pain.
“How could I have been so stupid?” she moans.
I clench my fists, and stare at Skye’s pain with impotent rage. I know exactly how she’s feeling. If those photos get out, I’ll be a laughingstock on Wall Street. More importantly – my stomach does a backflip – Child Protective Services probably won’t look too kindly on it, either.
I grind my teeth together. For once in my life, I have no idea how to fix this. I haven’t got an enemy to fight, no demon to slay, no battle to win.
Unless…
“Wait here,” I growl.
I storm out of the bedroom door, still stark naked. Skye cries out in dismay behind me. I don’t catch her exact words, but I’m sure she saying some variation on – where the hell are you going?
I pass by another five identical bedroom doors. The soundproofing is perfect, but I imagine every single one is occupied. God only knows what kind of sordid deeds are happening in this place tonight.
Fuck, I curse, silently. You should have known that this was too high of a risk. Yet you did it anyway. You couldn’t resist following your cock like a horny teenage boy.
I head straight for the auction room, not bothering to hide my nakedness. If my gut is right – and that’s all it is, a hunch – then the perpetrator is hiding in plain sight.
I storm through the door. It clatters violently against the wall behind me. Two sets of eyes turn to face me – the masked auctioneer, his face no longer hidden, and his assistant.
“What–”
“You know exactly what,” I yell, striding towards him. I grab him by the collar and lift him a couple of inches off the ground. “Tell me what you’re planning on doing with those photos. You’ve got exactly three seconds before I –”
“What photos?” The auctioneer chokes out, struggling for breath as I squeeze his collar tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
His protest dies in a squeal. I stare at his face, blood pounding in my ears, lungs heaving. I’m spoiling for a fight. I want to release the demon that has been locked inside me for so long – the violent monster trained by the US government to deal death to any enemy standing in my way.
But I can’t.
Because the man I’m threatening to within an inch of pissing his pants is, unfortunately for me, completely innocent. I can tell by his face. He truly has no idea what I’m talking about.
So who the hell is responsible?
“Then,” I mutter, straining to regain control over my breathing. “You’d better come with me. I’ve got something I need you to see…”
229
Skye
A second before Harlan strides back through our bedroom door, I realize he’s not alone. I dive for my mask, pressing it to my face just in time, although part of me wonders why I bother. Hell, my bare naked ass is probably blasted all over the Internet already!
“Harlan,” I pant. “What’s going–”
Then I see who he’s brought with him – the auctioneer. My forehead wrinkles.
Why bring that guy? And could you have given me some warning?
“There!” Harlan barks, pointing at the pile of destroyed electronics near the foot of our bed. The bed in which he finally gave me the gift I’ve been waiting for all these years.
I realize I’m still in a slight state of shock. Kinda numb, even.
None of this seems real yet. I know I should be feeling a crushing sense of fear, but I’m not. It’s as though I can see a hurricane on the horizon, thundering towards me, winds gusting at hundreds of miles an hour, and yet I’ve decided the light breeze on my face is as bad as it will get.
“I promise,” the auctioneer quivers, his prior self-assurance melting away. “The club’s reputation is entirely built on discretion. We would never spy on our guests. This goes against everything we – I – stand for…”
He tails off, clearly realizing he’s convincing no one.
“Then why don’t you explain to me,” Harlan says, his voice a low, dangerous growl, “Exactly how that,” his tone is filled with contempt as he points at the camera again, “made it in here.”
The auctioneer wrings his hands.
“I couldn’t possibly say,” he says. “Like I said, we don’t have cameras–”
My ears prick up. “What about the ones on the outside of the building,” I say, interrupting, “I’m sure I saw some.”
Harlan glances at me, forehead furrowed with interest. He nods supportively, and then turns back to the auctioneer.
“I think you’re going to want to stop talking,” he says, lowering his voice to a threatening, knife edged growl, “and show me the tapes. Because if you don’t…”
He spreads his palms wide, leaving the threat to the man’s imaginatio
n. It has the desired effect. The auctioneer’s face blanches, draining of blood. I have to hide a smile – even with the seriousness of this situation – as I look at him.
He’s petrified.
Then again, I would be too. Naked – with that enormous cock swinging between his legs, and brutal scars that mar his body, Harlan’s one hell of a scary-looking guy.
And he’s mine.
“Okay,” the man squeaks. “I’ll show you. Only, I’m not sure what use–”
“Leave that to me,” Harlan mutters murderously, cutting the man off. “So, maybe you should start walking.”
The auctioneer glances at Harlan’s naked body. “Don’t you…”
Harlan shakes his head. “No.”
The man blinks, as if struggling to process this turn of events. I don’t blame him. I guess it’s not every day a naked man walks through your place of business, threatening to wring your throat if he doesn’t get what he wants…
Then again, I think. He did make me parade in my underwear…
Harlan turns to me. “You can stay–”
“Oh, hell no,” I reply. “That’s never going to happen. I’m waist deep in this mess, too, Harlan. So if you think you’re keeping me out of that room, then you’ve got another “think” coming.”
Harlan nods quickly, hopefully placating me, “Of course.”
He looks back at the waiting auctioneer, and smiles warmly, as though this strange affair is just any other business meeting. He claps his hands together.
“Well then – shall we?”
230
Harlan
I stride back out into the lushly carpeted hallway, just half a pace behind the auctioneer. Skye follows another pace behind, mask still pressed anxiously to her face, wrapped in an enormous white bed sheet.
“It’s just in here,” the man croaks awkwardly, ushering me and Skye into a small security office. A few flickering screens light the otherwise darkened room. I flick a light switch on.
“You weren’t lying, then,” Skye says, almost with a hint of disappointment in her voice as she surveys the screens.