DARK BLISS (Dangerous Games,)

by Smart, Madison

  “The audience liked everything you did.”

  “Well, you were a big help. You did okay tonight.”

  I drained the glass and put it down. “Just ‘okay?’”

  “All right, better than okay. Don’t get a swelled head though. That was your first and last time on stage in a B&D club.”

  “You know,” I told him testily. “Sometimes you overdo this alpha stuff. I’m a grown woman and make my own decisions. Maybe that was my last time, maybe not. Right now I’m going back in the living room. And don’t kiss me again until you’ve shaved.”

  I turned and put my hand on the doorknob. I was halfway through when I heard noise behind me and suddenly felt a wet arm around my waist. A second later I was lifted off the floor and thrown over a broad, wet shoulder.

  I shrieked. “What the fuck are you doing? Put me down! NOW!”

  Rock didn’t bother to answer. My hair hung down and all I could see was his naked back and ass. He turned and it dawned on me what he had in mind. “Oh no! NO!” I screamed. “I am not going in there!”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. I yelled at the top of my lungs, made fists and hammered his back, kicking at him with both legs. The only impact it had was to turn the chuckle into a lascivious chortle.

  He stepped into the shower stall and suddenly I was drenched in hot water. He set me on my feet and shut the door, standing between it and me. I was trapped. Water flowed over me, plastering my hair, washing off my expensive perfume and soaking my elegant nightgown. I wailed in shock and anger but the brute’s only response was to grin. “Well,” he drawled. “Now I know what it means when they say someone’s ‘mad as a wet hen.’”

  “You asshole!” I shouted. I stabbed at his face with my fingernails. He caught both my wrists easily and twisted them behind my back, pulling me close. I felt him transfer my left wrist to the hand holding my right one. His free hand then slipped under my chin to tip it upward. I was so furious I spat in his face. He reacted with a slow cruel smile as the shower washed off the gob of salvia. With the hand that held my wrists, he pressed my trembling body hard against his own. I gasped as I felt the rockhard poke of his cock jabbing against my abdomen.

  I glared daggers at him as his face leaned toward mine. I tried to pull my head away, turn it to one side, but he held that as firmly as my wrists. I was completely and utterly helpless in his grasp.

  The water rained down. The steam rose about us. He pressed his lips against my mouth. I squeezed my own lips tightly together. He ignored my resistance and kissed my face, wet with tears and water. He kissed my cheeks and nose and ears and forehead, licked tears from my eyes and returned to my mouth, shoving hard against it.

  And it opened for him.

  My mind still raged against the bastard but my traitor body surrendered to his brutal passion. My lips parted and his tongue invaded me, caressing my mouth’s interior, a bold intruder claiming it for his own.

  My arms went limp and I felt my vagina, soaked on the outside, grow wet on the inside. My gown now clung to my body like a loose wet skin.

  Rock released my wrists and though I willed them to claw his face, they ignored the order to clasp themselves behind his neck, the better to steady my body as it too mutinied and molded itself against his hard muscles.

  Steam continued to gather in the stall, clouding my vision. Like the blindfold I’d worn earlier, it made me aware of my other senses: the musky scent of the man with me, his panting breath and the dark animal grunts and growls that came out of him, the stubble of his unshaved chin, the wet hair that covered his arms and chest, the rocky hardness of his muscles.

  And always in my ear was the thunder of water as it barraged down on us, so loud that it made speech impossible. But then neither of us was communicating with words. We were speaking with our hands and lips and bodies.

  I felt his fingers take hold of my gown and pull it up and off me, shedding me of the skin of civilization to become as naked and primitive as himself, knowing no other need or duty than to let him fiercely make me his mate.

  My anger had utterly fled, and now my mind had run after it. Language left me as I keened and moaned with desire, helpless to his touch. At that moment I belonged to him.

  And did he belong to me? No, he did not. He was my master. I was his slave. He could do with me what he wished. I could hope to be pleased with what he did, but it made no difference. Whatever he chose to do with me, I was his, always his. If he gave me pleasure, I would come back for pleasure. If he gave me pain, I would crawl to him for more.

  I felt his hands again on me, this time on my thighs. He lifted me upward, sliding me along his body until I felt the tip of his massive cock, thick and rigid. I spread my legs as he guided me down on it, the size fully filling me, stretching me. I dug my nails into his back as the hardness drove me to frenzy. I screamed at the insidious pain that made me crave more pain.

  And when I was finally impaled on him, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up to the top of his cock, then rammed me down to slam hard against his root. I flung my head back, my wet hair flying wildly. I screeched, howled, squealed, uttered an entire zooful of noises I’d never made before.

  Since being seized and carried into the shower, I’d never left off crying, at first tears of rage and frustration, then tears of desire and lust and now, quaking with a climax so fierce I felt I might fly apart, my eyes gushed tears made of some ectoplasm from my deepest reaches, from my very soul.

  Everything I’d experienced in the last few days flashed through my mind: the terror of my kidnapping, the violence of my rescue, the glowing brand with its fearful design, the feel of Rock’s broad back as we roared down the highway, the exuberant warmth of the Garcías, the forced intimacy of Juanito’s camper, the family feel of Casa Paradiso, the enigmatic exchange between Rock and the DARC agent, the midnight flight to Washington, my rage at Rock’s sex toys, Jaime McQueen’s charming reassurance, and finally the confusion of feelings, the arousal and humiliation from being bound, blindfolded and spanked before a hundred strangers. I had lived more intensely and vividly in these last days than in my entire life.

  And there was one more thing.

  That was the knowledge, the certainty, that I was hopelessly in love with a man who had more facets than a diamond, a man who was dangerous, gentle, passionate, remote, wise, secretive, arrogant, chivalrous, tender and possessive – very, very possessive.

  Did he love me? He cared deeply for me, of that I was sure. But love? I wasn’t entirely sure Rock could commit to loving a single woman for the entirety of his life. That was the sort of love I wanted. If he couldn’t return it right now, I was prepared to wait until he did. So long as I could be with him, on whatever terms he set, I was prepared to wait for the entirety of my life.

  And then my climax was over, leaving my mind in a dreamy daze, my body boneless and slack. My head rested on his shoulder, my arms draped loosely around his neck. I would have fallen off him had he not held me tightly against his chest with a hairy, muscled arm. I hadn’t the strength to continue to wrap my legs around his waist. They dangled just above my discarded nightgown on the shower floor – dangled because I remained impaled on the spear of his still-hard cock. I hadn’t the strength to raise myself off it and might have spent the night there in a room now so filled with steam that his face, close as it was, was half-hidden from me. I saw him now through a glass darkly – no whitely. I wondered if I would ever see the real Rock or just catch glimpses of one facet or another as they revealed themselves in unexpected ways.

  His body tensed and stiffened. He tightened his grip on me so hard I could barely breathe. He pressed and held me down on his cock until I gasped and whimpered with the pain.

  And then I felt the rush of his thick manmilk, his sweet love pouring into me like a torrent in a narrow canal. It flooded me and I felt my sex respond to him like a little raft on a raging river. In an instant, I’d climaxed again with a shriek of joy and pain.
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br />   And then we were done. After a moment, I felt him soften inside me. He gently lifted me off him and set me on my feet. I felt him reach around me to turn off the water and suddenly…

  Silence. The world was silent. I’d become so used to the constant battering of the shower that I had the same shock I’d had when Rock removed my blindfold. Then my eyes had exploded with shape and color. Now my ears rang with the stillness.

  We stood there for a long moment, not moving. I leaned against him, my face to his chest. His arm was around me, but this time gently, without force.

  I raised my head. The steam had thinned and now I could see his face, perhaps not clearly but enough to see the tenderness in his eyes.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  He said nothing but I saw something in his eyes, though I couldn’t say what.

  “You don’t need to say it to me, “ I told him. “I don’t want you to say it until you feel it – if you ever do. I hope someday to hear those words, but this is enough. All I want is for you to let me near, perhaps not as near as I want, but I can wait. And wait. And wait.”

  The bitter smile that I’d so often seen on his lips returned. “What I feel for you is like nothing I’ve felt for any other woman – ever. I don’t know if it’s love. I don’t know if I can love. I want you near though. More than I’ve wanted anything.”

  Steam still warmed the room and we stayed where we were another minute, two wet and naked people holding each other. We were on the fourteenth floor of a posh hotel in the heart of a great city. Above and below us, people slept in their beds or brooded on their worries or dreamed or, yes, made love. Outside, people drove through the darkened streets, worked late in offices, made phone calls to foreign cities where it was day. He and I were as common as two pebbles on a long beach. And as rare.

  “What are the odds,” he said at last. “What are the odds that I’d be working on my bike on one side of a little ridge when those two stopped to set up their branding party?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Fearfully small.”

  “Fearfully. Terrifyingly small. One chance in a billion. Too small to ever happen.”

  “But it did.”

  “By chance?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Not sure. Maybe I’m talking about fate.”

  “But you don’t believe in it.”

  “The modern Mexican in me doesn’t. But the Aztec believes. Oh, he believes.”

  “You’re frightening me, Rock. I don’t want to be part of some dark design of fate.”

  “Might not be a dark design.”

  “And the Aztec in you scares me too.”

  “He only comes out when he’s needed.”

  “Well, he’s not needed now. Let’s not talk about fate anymore. Let’s towel off and have some wine and turn on the TV and watch an old movie.”

  He smiled. “The Mex in me thinks that a great idea.”

  And so we did, cuddling on the sofa watching something in black and white about two lovers played by actors now long dead, but still alive in movie dreamland. We watched until we both drifted off into sleep and our own dreams. Two pebbles from far sides of the beach whom the tide had tossed together, though whether by chance or fate was hidden.

  At some point in the night we woke up and sleepily moved to bed, where after a little groping we folded into each other and fell asleep again.

  I woke sometime in mid-morning to the sound of Rock’s voice in the next room. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. I smiled at him but he didn’t smile back. “Zookeeper called,” he said.

  For a moment I was baffled. Then I remembered. Zookeeper was the head of DARC.

  “Why did he call?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. He’s still on the line.”

  “Oh. Well, go on and talk then.” I yawned. “I’m still half asleep.”

  “Better wake up fast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rock held the phone out to me, his face unreadable. “He wants to talk to you.”

  End of Part 1

  (The second and final book in this series will be published in about a month. Stay tuned! In the meantime, you may want to read my other book on Amazon, a dirty-funny taboo tale called “Daddy, If I’m a Billionairess, Why Do I Have to Make My Bed?”)

  Also by Madison Smart (with Robin Ripley):

  Daddy, If I’m a Billionairess, Why Do I Have to Make My Bed?

  Alex Stevens-Macy is 18 going on 12. She’s rich, spoiled and bratty. She has everything and what she doesn’t have she can buy. So why is she about to run away from home? Because the one thing she wants is the man who’s brought her up, dreamy Mark Macy – and he doesn’t want her, not in that way. To Mark, Alex is a little girl, his little girl. Since the death of Alex’s mom, Mark has taken his responsibility very seriously, especially since Alex’s latest “prank” resulted in criminal charges. To stay out of jail, she’s been remanded to Mark’s custody until she’s twenty.

  So when Alex skips her AA meeting to get high with a bad boyfriend, Mark is furious. He’s waiting for her when she gets home late and when she’s rude and unrepentant, takes her in hand for some old-fashioned discipline. What happens next surprises them both and spins their relationship into a whole new direction.

  It also causes a whole new set of problems, since a night of passion doesn’t make Alex any more mature or manageable. In fact it makes her brattier. Enter Roberta Hardwood of The Hardwood School of Corrective Guidance for Young Ladies. Hardwood is a former British army sergeant and police officer used to difficult girls. She’s also black and doesn’t take anyone’s shit. She locks down the family mansion and informs her defiant charge that she’s in for six weeks of Billionaire Boot Camp. Task One: make up your bed.

  Daddy, If I’m a Billionairess, Why Do I Have to Make My Bed? is a dirty-funny romp about sex and love (they aren’t the same), growing up, bird watching, cooking meals, keeping house and taking care of toddlers – and, oh yes, evasive driving techniques.

  A Confession from Robin Ripley: Dear readers, one of my favorite guilty pleasures is taboo family tales (especially if they’re by Selena Kitt). But I also have a gripe. Most usually fade out with the loving couple still locked in a sweaty forbidden embrace, no mention of what happens the Morning After. I’ve always taken that as a concession by the author that an HEA is not in the cards. A midnight tryst is one thing, setting up house is another. My talented niece Madison and I decided to break tradition and write a taboo tale with an HEA.

  We also had two other goals. First, to have a heroine who was more than a naïve, dewy-eyed child-woman. We wanted a girl with some edge and sass, a hell-raiser. Our second goal was a story that was funny as well as steamy. Angst is fine but we wanted to give our readers (and us) a break from erotic angst, something that had the wacky, unpredictable humor of the old screwball comedies with Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Did we succeed? You be the judge. Hope you like it!

  From Madison Smart:

  Thanks for reading DARK BLISS: Dangerous Games, Part 1. I hope you liked it! If you’d like to be notified when I publish again or give me feedback, drop me a line at:

  Madison Smart

  © 2014 by Madison Smart

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. All characters represented within are eighteen years of age or older and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. None of the characters engaging in sexual activities are blood related. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.