by Jay McLean
"Sooner or later, yeah." I bent to my task again, sliding my tongue inside her, fucking her with it. Then I replaced my tongue with my finger and went back to sucking her clit. When her whole body tightened, I stopped again, holding her there, right on the edge.
I stripped off her blindfold and let her see that my head was just a couple inches above her, my mouth maddeningly close. She gasped, straining to reach me, desperate for my tongue, but the bindings prevented her from closing the gap.
I smiled. Yeah, I was cruel.
I pushed up from the bed and dropped my pants. She was watching me now, panting with frustration, so I stroked my cock, which was thick and heavy. I felt a bit drunk, partly with my power over her and partly because all the blood must have rushed from my head to gather in my genitals. From my stash I selected a riding crop, black and long.
Rory's eyes went dark with alarm. "I might need a safeword for that."
"Does that mean you're using a safeword? Or that you want me to give you one?"
"Um..."she hesitated, looking between my face, which can't have been too comforting, and the crop. "It's just...no, I'm not using one. Not yet, anyway. I knew you were into this stuff, but I didn't know you were so intense about it."
"Too intense for you?"
She shook her head, but she was definitely wary now. I loved that she wasn't trying to stop me. That she was willing to go where I wanted to take her, even if it scared the shit out of her. Silly, brave girl.
I got back on the bed, straddling her hips. Her flesh beneath mine was almost too much for me to bear. She was trembling a little and I think I was, too. Why did she still feel so good to me? I reached for a condom and rolled it on. My cock jerked when I touched myself, and I was literally aching to shove myself inside her. I wasn't sure if it was Rory turning me on so much or the rush of the scene itself. She looked amazing lying there spread out for me, and I didn't want to think about anything beyond how beautiful she was and how much I wanted to join my flesh to hers.
But the mind is a treacherous place, and something very dark had its claws in me. So I pushed just a tiny bit into her, leaning forward so she would feel the pressure of me on her clit. I was going to fuck her all right. I was going to mind-fuck her.
I pressed in a little more deeply, and as I did, I flicked the end of the riding crop against her breast. It wasn't a hard strike, but it startled her. She arched off the bed, restricted by the tension in the ropes holding her arms. "Griff!"
I wasn't sure, and I don't think she was either, if the sound was protest or encouragement.
"If you need a safeword, how about this one: Lorelei. That has a nice ring to it, no?"
She froze. Her face turned ashen.
I kept my voice hard and drove myself fully inside her. "You lied to me."
She moved her mouth, but no words came out. She was more rattled than I'd ever seen her. Not even when I'd put my hands around her throat had she looked so dismayed.
"Nothing to say?" I withdrew slowly, hardly able to keep from groaning, then rammed her again. I raised the crop, poising the leather tab above her right nipple. "Say your name. Your real name."
"Rory," she said.
I struck. I won't lie and say it was hard to do. Hadley had loved having her breasts whipped. Maybe I hadn't realized how much I enjoy playing the sadist.
But Rory didn't crack. "My name is Rory. That's the name I claimed for my own instead of the lame-ass name my mother gave me."
"Use your safeword," I growled, raising the crop for another blow. "Say it, damn you."
"I won't."
God, she was stubborn. I cropped her more lightly this time. I guess I didn't really want to hurt her. Much. Or make her hate me. Fuck, I wasn't sure what the hell I wanted. The feel of her hot pussy around me was making my head spin, and that only increased when she rotated her hips, grinding up against me in an unmistakably willing way.
"I won't say it. Safewords are for stopping. I don't want you to stop, Griff. Please don't stop."
Jeez. Score one for Rory. She couldn't use her limbs or even her mouth, but she used the muscles of her vagina to draw me deeper and squeeze me hard and hold me. And damn, that's all it took. I dropped the crop and let myself down so I could kiss her. Our tongues danced the tango while I caressed her face, her hair, her earlobes. She said my name again, and fuck me if I didn't love hearing it.
She moaned and moved faster, finding her own rhythm, taking me with her. Every time I pulled back, she arched off the mattress as if unwilling to let me retreat even a millimeter. Every time I pumped in deep she seemed to suck me in even farther until I could no longer imagine being separate. She was all spread out for me, submissive, vulnerable, unable even to stroke me with her fingers, yet she was all around me, hot and sweet and sticky as honey. I was the one on top, the one in control, taking what was mine and enjoying the hell out of her. But I was lost in her all the same.
Her mouth, which had been furiously kissing mine, opened in a gasp, and I felt her tense around my cock and then ripple with a series of powerful contractions. From somewhere deep in her throat came a piercing cry. It was all I needed to roll over the edge myself, and we were both arching and throbbing in shards of pleasure so exquisite that I felt as if a bolt of lightning had driven divine fire through me, searing me body and soul.
Coming down was rockier than usual. I'd been the one whipping her, but I felt battered and torn.
As the pleasure ebbed, anger flowed back into me. I disentangled our limbs and reached overhead to release her wrists from the leather cuffs. I undid her ankles, too, then got up from the bed and coldly put on my clothes.
Rory sat up, massaging her wrists. They weren't scored; my cuffs were well-designed and I knew my BDSM safety rules.
She sat up, hugging her knees with one arm. "He told you, didn't he? Connor Finlay. He used that picture he took of me to track me down."
"You lied to me from the start."
"Most of what I told you was true. I just didn't fill you in on the details."
"You said your mother was a whore."
"I said my friend LaVerle, whom everyone calls Mom, was a sex worker. Which is true."
"Yeah, and your real mom's an exotic dancer."
"I didn't actually say that. You drew that inference."
"Not good enough, Rory," I was getting angrier. "You told me she'd tried to auction you off when you were a teenager."
"She did! She got a bunch of studio heads together and tried to convince them to put me in this dick movie. I didn't want to do it, and she was pissed as hell when I refused. I never wanted to be like her. I wanted to go to college and live my own life. It's all I've ever wanted."
"Yeah, well if acting is not your thing, why did you make a fucking Good Will Hunting rip-off? You even directed it."
"Did Finlay tell you that, too?" Her tone was scathing. "That was different. That was a low-budget documentary, not a Hollywood extravaganza."
"Shall we look you up on IMDB? You're an actress. Maybe even a better actress than your mother. You sure fooled me with the act you've been laying down here all week."
"That wasn't an act."
"Yeah, well it sure looked like one to me."
She drew herself up, stark naked, and knelt in the middle of the bed. Then she cupped her bare breasts in her palms. She arched her back, thrusting her chest forward, as if offering herself to me. "The way I feel when I'm with you is no act, Griff. I've never known anything like this before. If you don't believe me, pick up that crop and hit me again. I liked it. And I like you. I'm glad you didn't murder Hadley, but I was sure you hadn't, right from the start. That kind of evil just isn't in you. When I'm with you I feel excited and buoyant and filled with joy. I wish you weren't so down on yourself all the time because I think you're amazing."
This was so unexpected that I didn't know how to respond. I just stood there staring at her breasts, which weren't marked because I hadn't struck that hard, and her tangled brown hair,
and her big blue eyes, and the pinch of her waist and swell of her hips. My cock stirred again. This was the same girl who had only had sex a few times before she'd met me, and now she'd turned into Aphrodite.
"You'd better get dressed," was all I said. Then I added, "I'm a dick and an asshole. Remember?" And left her alone in my bedroom.
When she came out a little while later, she kept her face averted as she found her backpack and began stuffing her small pile of possessions into it. But I could tell that she had been crying. Dammit.
"Lorelei," I said.
"Don't call me that."
"I like the sound of it." I wasn't lying. It was a strange and beautiful name.
She made an anguished noise and sat down heavily on the sofa. I could hear her pain, even though I didn't totally understand it. We'd only known each other for a few days. What had she expected from me?
Making her miserable wasn't what I wanted. But whatever I did want was unclear. She was such a strange being in my world. So brittle, so smart, so funny and so generous. She was like a bright butterfly flitting around my apartment, going in and out of her cocoon at the computer desk. Right from the start I hadn't known how to treat her. I'd never known anyone like her.
She had trusted me. She had made me feel human again. She had given me hope, made me laugh. But I'd hidden all that from her because it made me feel so fucking vulnerable. I was hiding it still.
But she'd lied to me.
I stalked around the room, feeling as if steam were blowing out of my ears. Rory just sat there, her shoulders hunched, her beautiful smile gone.
"I thought you were poor. I thought you'd had to overcome all sorts of disadvantages. I really admired you for that. It made me think that if you could do it, maybe I could do it, too. But it was all a lie. An act. You're even richer than Hadley was."
"That's bullshit. I'm on an allowance and I work part-time. I don't want my mother's money, anyhow. I'll earn my own."
"Look, you're fucking famous. Your brother's a rock star. Your sister's a supermodel."
"Lily's not a supermodel. She's just a regular model."
"Whatever—you come from a family full of celebrities. I have enough trouble with the press hounding me as it is."
"I'm not famous. The rest of my family isn't me. I'm just some movie star's weird-ass daughter. The press stays far away from me."
"I can't risk it," I said, remembering what Finlay had said. "If I'm going to find Hadley, I have to be smart about it. The fact that she might still be alive has to be kept secret. Finlay warned me that if the traffickers get any hint that we know what airport she passed through three months ago, they'll kill her immediately."
"It's always been Hadley, hasn't it?" She sounded bitter as she said this. Then she shook her head violently, as if to drive out such thoughts. "You found out that she might still be alive, and suddenly I'm superfluous. Well fine. I understand that. But please don't rant at me because I didn't confess that I grew up in Beverly Hills or that my mother's been Hollywood's sweetheart for the last two decades. Or that my brother's the lead singer for Lashed. Usually people want to know me because of those things. But I'm tired of only being wanted because I'm Nina's daughter or Jesse's sister. For once, I thought, wow, this guy actually seems to like me for myself."
I admit I hadn't thought about it from that angle. But I was still too angry and confused. Not just about Rory's identity, but about Hadley's picture, too.
"Anyway, no harm no foul," she said, packing up her laptop. "I'm going to walk to the train. I really appreciate your letting me stay for a few days. And rescuing me from Crazy Ray on the night we met."
Could I let her go? I heard Finlay's words buzzing in my brain: You'd better dump the girl if you want to keep her safe. This is dangerous shit. I'm sure you don't want to endanger the life of a second young woman, right?
I hadn't protected Hadley, but I could make damn sure Rory didn't suffer because of her brief association with me.
"I'll drive you to the station," I said.
"No. I want to walk. I want to say goodbye to you here. Ok90
ay? Let's not drag this out."
But I didn't want her to leave. Fuck. I crossed to her and tried to kiss her. She slipped away, turning her face from mine. I caught her chin in my fingers and turned it back. She grimaced and fought me. Her large blue eyes were swimming with tears.
"Rory, don't." She kept struggling to get out of my arms. But I held her fast. Silly little girl. I was bigger and stronger and she wasn't getting away from me that easily. I lowered my mouth to hers, and her resistance died. Her arms came around me, and we clung.
"Look," she said, when we finally stopped kissing. "I understand. You were in love with Hadley and you lost her. You believed for over a year that she was dead, but now she turns up alive. Of course you want to find her. Save her, rescue her. And you should try. Maybe it's impossible, and maybe you won't be able to do it, but you have to try. I totally get it."
Was that it? Was that really what I wanted to do? Rescue her? Hadley was in Istanbul. Had been. By now she could be anywhere. What did I know about rescuing people? That had been Sean's thing, and look where it had gotten him.
"I'm glad you get it," I said in a harsher tone than I probably should have used. "Because I sure as hell don't. I'm just trying to deal with this shit. That she's alive. That she needs help. But I have no fucking clue what's going to happen next. Or even what I want to happen."
She pulled away from me. "You'll figure it out, Griff. I know you will."
She pulled on her fleece jacket and found her ugly boots, thrusting her feet into them. Then she grabbed her backpack and headed for the door.
I should let her go.
I should tie her to my bed.
I reached for her, unable to resist, but she held up her palm. Her shoulders were squared in that tough, determined way I'd seen a few times before. "Lorelei," she said.
Damn.
She gave me her brilliant, shining smile and walked out my door.
LINDA BARLOW
Linda Barlow is the bestselling author of 20 novels, with more on the way. She lives in New England with her mysterious spouse (who sleeps during the day, which has often made her wonder if he's a vampire) and their equally enigmatic and nocturnal cat.
Her novel Leaves of Fortune won the Rita Award, and Fires of Destiny was a finalist for the same award. She loves reading, writing, computer games, and dark chocolate.
A Note from the Author
Rory and Griff's story will continue in the next novella, Color Me Tough. Some of the characters introduced here (Rory, Griff, Connor, Hadley, and Alec) will appear in future parts of the Color Me series.
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Other novels available now at Amazon:
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Blazing Nights: http://amzn.to/15DZbB4
A Kiss Is Just A Kiss: http://amzn.to/1g0wJPC
ALANA ALBERTSON
Invaluable
Late Summer, San Diego
The blonde Barbie doll swayed her body to the music. She was dancing on a platform, fluorescent lights highlighting her sweaty skin. Man, she was fine. Her hips swirled around and I couldn’t help but imagine them swiveling on top of me. Summertime in San Diego brought out all of the honeys. Short pink skirt, tight white tank top, with a turquoise bikini top peeking through—I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw her clothes strewn all over my floor.
My wingman for the night, Vic Gonzales, was nursing his beer. He normally wasn’t my first choice, but my best buddy Pat was all wrapped up in this major drama with this chick Annie who we’d saved. Poor girl had been kidnapped off a cruise ship and forced into sex slavery. My boy Pat hired her to give him head in a brothel in Curaçao, and then she told him her name. His call to action. We were motherfucking United States Navy
SEALs. There was never a question—we had to save her. Now she was safe back home in San Diego, madly in love with her savior Pat, who was acting like a love struck puppy despite swearing to us that he wasn’t interested in her. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for the dude, but I missed my bro.
At least Vic could dance. So that was a plus. Pat normally would just hang out at the bar all night, drinking himself into oblivion.
I took a swig of my own beer. My eyes stared intently at Barbie. Would she smile when she caught them undressing her? I wasn’t a conceited prick, but I usually didn’t have any problem with the ladies. At six foot five inches tall, I towered over the other men at this club. The bars in Pacific Beach, San Diego, were packed with frat boys, surfers, Marines, and sailors. But I stood out. I wasn’t just your average sailor—I was a Navy SEAL and a former NFL linebacker. I’d left behind money and fame to make a difference in the world, do something I believed in. Something I’d die for.
Barbie made strong eye contact right at me. Just what I thought—she wanted me. You never knew with these white chicks, if they wanted to date a brother. Sure everyone tried to pretend we were race blind, especially since we had a black president, but as one of only a handful of African-American Navy SEALs, I was reminded every day that I stood out.
I whispered to Vic. “I’m going in. You want her friend?” Barbie’s girlfriend had long, straight, dark hair touching her ass. Tall, skinny, seemed shy. Just his type.
Vic nodded. I’m straight, but I knew Vic was a good-looking man. All of the women we met dug him—tall, dark skin, fully tatted, annoying dimples. But no matter how much they wanted him, he always found a way to screw it up. He was too respectful, too sensitive. He’d end up buying a girl a drink and then spend all night showing her pictures of his daughter, Carina. He could never close the deal.
We set our beers down and headed up to the platform. No words. I started grooving behind Barbie. She shrugged her shoulders and gave me a coy smile. I was in. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her tight little ass grind up against my cock. Life was good.