Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I am in a different place in my life. I can take care of you now.”

  “Oh! But you couldn’t take care of me years ago when I needed you most? How do I know you won’t just leave me again? How can I trust you?”

  “Because,” he whispers against my lips, “I am not leaving you again.”

  I want to fall prey to his will. I want to kiss his lips and embrace his love, but my heart knows the scars. My heart knows the way he can completely destroy me, but my body demands otherwise as I fall against his lips, kissing and longing for him to take me.

  The bedroom door busts open as we begin to kiss. “We’ve got movement on the back of the property!” Rachel shouts from the darkened hallway as I grab my jeans, shirt, and his jacket. I slip my feet into my boots, trying to ignore all that is happening around me.

  “I saw lights pull up through the trees when I was outside smoking,” Aimee informs. “We had already cut the lights in the house.”

  “How many?” Dale spins slightly, but keeps his hip next to me.

  “At least two, maybe three,” Rachel says.

  “Fuck!” Dale grimaces.

  Suddenly, shots ring out, shattering all of my back windows. Dale pushes me down, laying his hefty frame atop me. I close my eyes, praying for this to end. The rain of bullets seems unending.

  “We have to get out of here,” Dale urges. “Rachel and Aimee, stay down and crawl to the garage. We are right behind you.”

  “I need my bag!” I protest, refusing to leave my work as I wiggle into the clothing. The shooting subsides as the women scurry off. “It’s hanging on the rack by the front door.”

  Dale gazes to the door and back to me. “You start crawling and whatever you do—do not come back!”

  I heard those same words fifteen years ago.

  * * * *

  I wished I understood why he stopped. He buried his dick within my walls and his eyes glazed over as he stared at the steel panel of the truck bed. Nervous and scared, I felt the butterflies rising in belly. Maybe I did it the wrong way. Maybe I did the wrong thing.

  “Amber,” he whispered, suckling my bottom lip and closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t say things like that to a guy like me.”

  “But…” I whimpered the words out, hoping he’ll forgive me.

  “But nothing,” he scolded. “After I do this, you are never ever allowed to say those words to another man.”

  I cried out, “…I would never.”

  His fingers cinched around my wrists as he forced my arms against the blanket. Under the moonlight, he arched up beautifully and thrust into me, biting my lip, my neck, my nipples. This wasn’t sweet love making. This was feral fucking as I succumbed to his male animal.

  Writhing underneath his broad, muscular frame, I moaned. He didn’t stop or slow down, if anything his momentum built up, taking us higher and higher. I bucked wild as my hips tilted to meet his thrusts. I wanted this. I needed him fucking me like a savage—to be taken and controlled and cared for.

  His hands tightened around my wrists as we slid on the blanket. The fabric against the steel slowly worked out from under us. I didn’t complain. This man could’ve fucked me in a dank dark alley or a dirty motel room. It was his choice, his responsibility, deciding when and how we fucked.

  I was nothing but his plaything.

  What I didn’t realize was how that also meant he could put me on a shelf or far away, but he was mine. And I was most definitely his.

  The force of his body against my flesh was real and unexpected as his pressure unyielded between my legs and around my wrists. I’d barely ever went to first base much less something like that. My mind and body spun with a pleasurable shock, a ride at a carnival, twirling me round and exciting my senses to no end.

  He was so different and that alone appealed to me. The beautiful man portrayed in his work didn’t begin to capture his true essence. He was a bold gentleman, rugged with calloused hands as he listened to my plea.

  I know he didn’t understand why a virgin would’ve asked for such things. But I didn’t want him to be gentle with me. I wouldn’t break and I could take it—take his power full on because what he didn’t know—I was already broken. My step father didn’t get the chance to take me, but he had given me years of physical abuse, insuring I would never understand gentle lovemaking. It had to be this way or I wouldn’t feel a thing. And I wanted to feel – this man – with all of me.

  Maybe I was a little off.

  Maybe I was little warped.

  But I was damn sure turned on.

  DALE

  UNSTRAPPING MY PIECE from my calf, I move it to the waistband of my jeans as I watch the woman I love endure this assault. Though the glass and debris, I crawl my way to the front door and find her bag. I toss it over my shoulder, running crouched down to the attached garage.

  The women are piled in Amber’s tiny sports car, looking at me anxiously for an answer. Opening the door swiftly, I point to Amber and shout, “You—Out Now!”

  Rach asks, “Where are we going, Boss?”

  “I have no idea. Just try and get out alive. Pitch me the garage door opener,” I say as Aimee tosses it to me. “When I open it, get the fuck away from here.”

  Feeling her tremble against my palm and pulling her close to the door, I grab Amber’s wrist. “We are going to run. My bike is right outside this door. Stay down. Stay close to me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she mumbles, terrified. And then she adds an unexpected, “I love you, D.”

  I glance down at her, she’s staring vacant and lost. I lift her chin to meet my gaze. “Listen to me, I am going to get us the fuck out of this, but I need you to trust me.”

  A teardrop falls on her cheek as she says, “I always have.”

  I dodge the rush of emotion pounding in my heart, passing it off and ignoring her sentiment. Loving her with everything I have means focusing to get us out of this, I growl, “Ready?”

  She nods and I push the button.

  As soon as we run past, Aimee yanks the car out of the garage and speeds off down the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust. Without even telling Amber what to do, she automatically pulls my helmet on her head and mounts the rear of the bike. Although I am rather stunned, I have zero time to think about the significance of what she just did.

  I fire up the bike, and we roar through the cloud of Aimee’s departure like a smoke bomb shielding us from view. I avoid kicking on the lights until we reach the cattle guard, but when we do, I hightail it north. Her hand grazes over my gun, and though she’s aware of its presence, she says nothing.

  She knows I’ll use it; I have before.

  The SUVs chase us in the distance, and I should be worried, but I am not. I am confident in my ability. If we can keep moving, I can keep us hidden and Amber safe. With an uncertainty ringing in my brain, I realize I don’t know what I am running from and that is my biggest concern. What are they after?

  They continue to follow us, but an hour in I watch as Aimee flies onto I-10 east, back in the direction of Austin. I crank it west, and then north up into New Mexico. I feel her on my back, the slow and steady pulse of her breathing, rising and falling. There is no one behind us, but I hesitate to dismiss them yet.

  I don’t mention where we are going. I already know, but if she did I could meet with opposition. So I don’t ask her opinion. She doesn’t care. The only thing she cares about is my protection, shielding her through whatever mess this is.

  I decide to stop in Roswell, figuring she could use a bathroom and a drink. We’ve been on the road for hours and I know her perky bottom is probably aching from my ride. The gas station on the outskirts is rather seedy, but I park near the back by the bathrooms.

  Removing the helmet, she asks, “Why are you stopping?”

  “Gotta piss,” I grumble. “Come on.”

  We both go into the single women’s restroom as I am not cruel enough to make her go to
the men’s. The small room has a large metal door with multiple locks, none of which seem to work. I hear her stream splashing in the water as I hold the door. She washes her hands in the rust-stained sink and stands in front of me, eager to get back on the road.

  “I got this, go,” she says, pushing all of her hundred twenty pounds against the door.

  Unlike me, she doesn’t turn away, but peers around to watch me drain the snake. I’ve never been stared at while going to the bathroom and a flush of red floods my cheeks. Now, there is something ya gotta understand about me. I am a natural ginger with pale skin. When I blush, I turn a hot strawberry color that signals like a beacon, and it’s damn embarrassing.

  Looking in the mirror as I wash my hands, I let my eyes skim down her body. I have craved this woman for years, and now she’s trying to catch a look at my johnson. I know it, she knows it. I shift closer to her and growl, “Let’s go.”

  I don’t have time to be concerned with my dick twitching over her, a distraction could equal death. We run inside the grunge-filled store and grab two bottles of water. I open one as we leave and shove it towards her. “Drink.”

  She sips it all froufrou like it’s damn expensive wine. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and pull a smoke from my jacket. I don’t do it often, but when I am on a job or stressed, the old habit dies hard. “I said, drink and I mean drink,” I snarl. “Down that shit like you would swallow my come.”

  Her eyes open wide and not another word is said as she consumes most of the bottle. I finish my smoke, fill up the tank, and we are on our way again.

  The further north we travel, the more I am thankful it is not winter. I’d have to stop and buy her a pink snow bunny suit and though she’d look adorable, all that material just gets in the way. As it stands, I can feel the heat from her core through her jeans pressed into my back. And I cannot wait to peel them off when we arrive at our destination.

  * * * *

  The moment she asked me to pin her down something flipped on, burning my insides and erupting out of my skin onto hers—pale, delicate, and innocent. I did as she asked, but even more so. She triggered me, igniting the impossible and reuniting the forgotten.

  I returned home to base camp in the middle of nowhere Texas, threw down a map, closed my eyes, and landed somewhere near San Antonio. I ended up going to college there. The scout found me in a club – The Holding Room – years ago.

  One of my buddies had mentioned going to this fetish bar. At the time, I didn’t have a clue what that meant. Always in the mood to try something new, I agreed. That one moment changed my entire life. I ended up hanging out there alone, night after night, watching the clientele and wishing to be a part of that world.

  Four months later, close to Christmas time, I ended up with a cute little elf, prancing at the end of my whip. I didn’t go into this to become some sort of adult entertainer. After the scout enjoyed my live performance with a trained and collared angel, it was a done deal except for signing the contracts.

  I continued college and strip dancing on the side, but started making movies. At first, porn was getting all the girls and more pussy than I could have imagined, but it didn’t take long for the sex to turn dull and the girls to become clones – too much makeup, big hair, and perfume.

  I found salvation late at night in the dingy dungeons of The Holding Room. The nameless girls all wanted the same thing—the one thing—taking. And I willingly provided.

  Despite my disenchantment with the work, I soon realized how good the coin was. I got lucky and my popularity grew, increasing my demand as my struggle to maintain control remained in the dungeons.

  Taking a few risky moves, I quickly doubled my net worth and reinvested everything I had into my business. It proved more than worthwhile, but as I learned to take control in a corporate world my need to prove myself in the dungeon lessened.

  I hadn’t been asked to pull rank over a woman in years, but as Amber laid beneath me, she felt as natural as breathing. Our hearts beat together as our bodies merged into one. And suddenly, I wanted to return to the free flying feeling, holding my position and taking the responsibility of a woman in my hands again.

  I would get off on hurting Amber.

  She hadn’t asked me to do that though. She asked me to pin her down. A pretty big distance existed between holding a girl down and telling her to hold on—while I make you cry – and get off on it.

  But I wanted to. I wanted to make her cry. I needed those tears to run down her cheeks, knowing that I brought them forth and having her find sanctuary in my arms. I was the devil with angel wings, but I kept my secret, thrusting into her and gripping her wrists harder. All the while, I imagined her weeping and screaming my name.

  And hoping she never discovered how truly dangerous I was.

  AMBER

  WE’VE BEEN RIDING for hours, past shanty little towns with rusty gas station signs and dilapidated, crumbling buildings. As my arms wrapped tight around his waist, I can feel the cold hard steel of the gun. The gun I know he will use to protect me. I am the safest I have ever been under the watchful guise of Dale Archer.

  He’ll sacrifice everything to keep me safe. He always has. Maybe I have taken advantage of that over the years, pushing the limits of his protection, but he always comes through. He never fails me.

  I shift around on the bike ever so slight, careful to not risk our balance. I have been on his bike before, I know how this works. Dale drives fast, but he’s careful. I don’t want his body to feel this good – strong and unrelenting – against mine, but he does. The dampness soaks through my undergarments as we head up into the foothills of the mountains.

  I know I need to stop thinking about him this way, hoping he will take me, making me his again. I’m drifting off in the beauty of the serene landscape, trying to not think about Dale when it occurs to me that my house is wrecked. We may be relatively safe, but someone used my house for target practice.

  Although I have my laptop with me which contains all of my work, I worry about everything else – my possessions and animals – we left behind. I cannot hold back the tears any longer as the adrenaline rushing through me from the fear subsides, leaving nothing but an empty void of questions.

  I am trying to stay quiet, riding behind the man who saved me, risking his own life. But the more I fret, the louder my wails become and before I know it, Dale has pulled off the side of the road.

  Dale strides off the bike with ease like he’s done it a million times. Unsnapping my helmet, he hands me a handkerchief from his back pocket. “What’s wrong?” he whispers, running his fingers through my frazzled crazy curls, “Talk to me, baby.”

  “We left everything,” I cry, “I left everything behind.”

  “Hush,” he says, wrapping his arms tight around me. “I got ya, babe. I texted a couple guys I know to come secure the area. They’ll be staying there, getting things cleaned up. I am certain I can tell them to feed your animals, too.”

  He’s saying the words, but I cannot believe his generosity. I mean I have known for years that he has kept tabs on me, but this is above and beyond that. “I just hate to have brought you into this mess.”

  “Darlin girl, I was in this mess when I was twenty-seven. I fell in love with you then and I made a promise to always keep you safe,” Dale says the words like he’s saying his vows, and I am humbled, shocked, and scared to the point of trembling. “This falls into that category. I am not leaving you—not now, not ever.”

  I sniffle, “Where are we going?”

  “My older sister’s house in Taos,” he answers without apology or excuse. “Until we can figure out what the fuck is going on.”

  “You’ve done too much for me already,” I argue.

  “Bullshit,” he rebukes, “Stephanie won’t care. If anything she’ll be happy someone is staying there.”

  “Stephanie…” I ramble off, thinking as the realization hits me. “Stephanie – the Mistress Serene – Smith-Stanton is your sister?”
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  “Actually, she is my half-sister. We have different moms. Her mom died just after she was born. Our dad, Holland Archer married my mom, but she remarried Oliver after dad passed and they had my sister Dana.”

  “So Dana is a half-sister, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  I snicker at how much I don’t know about this man. I’ve loved him since I turned eighteen, but didn’t know this story of his family history until today. I reflect briefly, watching as he kicks at the gravel, smoking a cigarette.

  “What about…” I pause, thinking I am overstepping about my internet knowledge of Dale Archer. “What about the business—Archer Agency?”

  Dale snickers like he expected no less. “My mom inherited the agency, but she never wanted to run it. So my step father took it over.”

  I stayed quiet on the matter, but if he asked me, Dale seemed far more deserving of his own families business.

  “We should get going,” I mumble, attempting to segue us out of the uncomfortable mess we are in. He touches my hand and lifts my chin to look at him.

  “Listen to me, you need to breathe. You need to calm down. Everything is going to be fine.” He leans in slow, kissing me. I feel of rush of warmth pool between my thighs. He departs from my lips suddenly, his eyes scouting in the distance. “We need to go—now.”

  I don’t ask why as I pop the helmet back over my head and straddle the bike. He roars the engine to life, and we speed into the distance. I know something set him off, forcing our sudden departure.

  The next few hours I spend with my head laying against his back as my arms cradle around his waist. The sun is warm, but with the cool temperatures, it is a perfect day for riding the switchbacks or running away from crazy gunmen.

  I am comfortable and close my eyes, drifting off into my memories.

  * * * *