Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  Now. Now she had to realize that trying to torture him was torturing her more. She wanted his hands caressing her, his lips on her body. She wanted confident and punishing handling. If that wasn’t exactly the raw, aching need raging across her body at this point, he’d close the place down and become a boring lawyer.

  “Ro, honey?” Her voice was velvet and molasses, husky with need.

  “Yes?”

  “You said the name of this game is Take What You Want. I’m going to free your hands because I want them on my body. God how I want them, and you inside me, right now.”

  He closed his eyes with relief as she lifted the blindfold from his head.

  She unbuckled his wrists, one hand after another, and stepped back. He didn’t try to hide the passion burning inside him as he opened his eyes.

  He observed her moment of apprehension as he rubbed his wrists against each other, absently soothing his self-inflicted abrasions. Stepped out of the pooled material of his pants without the slightest self-consciousness. Taking his time. He stoked her fear and lust by just staring at her, sure his eyes threw flame as they roved over her body. “You are going to be sore tomorrow.”

  He didn’t miss the way her breath caught, hearing it. Or the way her nipples stayed nice and hard.

  With one rough move he grabbed her, dragging her against him, locking her in the vise of his arms. His mouth came down on hers, bruising in its intensity. Her small cry of helpless need rolled through him like the most potent aphrodisiac in the world. This was what they both needed. Crushed against his cock, she was causing him pain as well as pleasure, but he didn’t mind.

  He was about to return the favor.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck as she offered herself up to him. Her lips, parted and swollen in the fiery aftermath of his possession, looked wetly ripe.

  Gazing down at her, he felt an unexpected surge of affection. “Go lie face down on the spanking bench.” Without waiting for her to obey, he shoved her in the desired direction.

  Stumbling, but clearly still high on sensuality, Lizbeth looked at him with pleading eyes. Submissive eyes. It was all he could do not to rip her clothes off and take her immediately. She slowly went.

  Not fast enough. “Now!” he barked, landing a blow with his cupped palm on her ass. Her clothes would blunt the sting, but not the shock of his hitting her, however gently. Her eyes widened. This would be the test of it, he knew.

  “Ro. I…you’re not supposed to…” Lizbeth panted for breath, obviously still wanting him. And wanting she knew not what.

  Ro smiled. He knew what she wanted, even if she didn’t. “Do you remember your safe word?”

  Her hands floated to her neck. She nodded, understanding. Without another word, she turned and went to the padded bench. She crawled onto it, positioning her knees on the spread pads. After a moment, she grasped the handholds.

  His heart swelled with gratitude for her trust. “Well done. Except for one thing.” He strode to the bench, felt her twitch as he grasped around to the front of her pants, unfastened them quickly, and pulled them, along with her panties, to mid-thigh. The smooth pale globes of her ass looked as inviting as anything he’d ever seen. “Better,” he breathed, his hand tingling with anticipation.

  Nothing could have kept him from running his hands over her bare cheeks. “You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you.” She trembled. He waited for her to nod awkwardly, her forehead down against the bench pad.

  He positioned himself by her side, not yet letting any part of his body make contact with hers. The bench raised her to the perfect height. His hands were large and sensitive, the fingers thick and long. Cupping his hand slightly, he let it settle on her sweet spot, the lower area of her ass that would be creased if she were standing rather than bent over before him. Her small sound of distress made him smile.

  Then he raised his arm, palm still cupped, and swung it down to make sharp contact. The force of it made her lunge forward slightly. She gasped, then stilled when she felt his hand still on her, transmitting its heat and his domination directly into her body. She whimpered, and he narrowed his eyes with pleasure.

  He raised his arm again, and brought it down once more. Another lunge and gasp, but this time her trembling continued. Not waiting this time, he raised his arm and brought his hand down on her sweet spot repeatedly, making it considerably warmer and drawing louder gasps from Lizbeth.

  When he judged the time was right, he flattened his hand. With the harder, sharper feel of his flat hand he slapped first one rounded cheek, then the other, until both turned bright pink. The sight of his hand’s imprint moved him. The feel of her heated skin, the sound of her lunging against the bench with her little grunts of distress, the sight of her exposed and vulnerable position, all stirred him emotionally.

  There was a thickness in his throat that he sometimes felt during an exceptionally hot session.

  He paused, stroking her back, and checked in with her. “Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “Lizbeth.” He said it gently. After a moment, he said her name again, and lifted her chin so he could see her face.

  Her eyes were dreamy, unseeing.

  Ro laughed, delighted.

  He gently pressed his lips against her neck, nibbling, knowing it left hot trails of tingling sensation up and down. He alternated, bringing his hands into play, giving delicate, tantalizing touches as he bent to where her breasts had been pressed to either side of the spanking bench. He enjoyed her shivers of delight almost as much as her fearful cry earlier, as he plucked at her taut nipples.

  Then his hands moved gently down her sides, up over her back. Soothing her. “You’ve done very, very well,” he praised her.

  She trembled. Her ass moved in a slow, grinding circle against the bench. Then: “More.”

  He heard a tormented groan, and realized it was his own. She was astonishing. He couldn’t keep going like this. His cock had endured enough.

  She ground against the bench again. He cursed, then yanked her pants farther down her legs. She helped, panting and eager, as they both tried to remove her clothes, getting in each other’s way with their urgency.

  When she lay totally exposed, her cheeks pinkened and positioned just right for him, Ro stood behind her. He’d selected one of the thinnest, full-sensation condoms and as he rolled it over himself he spoke to her. “You said you want my hands. And you want me inside you.”

  His cock nudged at her inner thigh. He probed with his fingers, using them to spread her. He let his thumb and forefinger twirl her clit, yanking a cry of pleasure from her. As the cry peaked, he shoved himself inside her, deliberately rough. The cry changed to one of alarm.

  He shoved harder, bending over to whisper in her ear. “You asked, and I’m giving it to you. I know it hurts.

  “Take it.”

  He thrust into her again. He could feel her rapture in the way she stopped fighting it, meeting his thrusts with trembling eagerness.

  Desire snaked to the pit of his stomach, rose to his heart. It was perfect. She was perfect. He was going to come like he never had before.

  Suddenly, a loud crash came from the main room.

  5

  Ro’s reaction—cursing, withdrawing—yanked her right out of the exquisite sensation of their coupling.

  Stunned, she froze for a long moment, as if her tight grip on the handholds would make the interruption go away. By the time she pushed herself to her knees, and then up to her feet, Ro was zipping his zipper and rushing out of the Cage Room.

  Lizbeth could still feel his heat on her body. Her lips tingled as she exhaled into the suddenly empty room. The magic he’d made her feel still fuzzed her brain and made her legs wobbly and uncertain.

  Belatedly, reality set in and made her dive for her clothes, yanking them on. Was it a robber? A gang? Was someone still out there, and did they have a gun?

  She whirled around, looking for a weapon. She wouldn’t rush out behind Ro on
ly to end up like those root-tripping girls in Hollywood horror films, meat for the butcher. Neither would she huddle in the back room while her man was mugged and beaten. Her eyes fell on the line of whips. She picked up the largest and raced toward the door.

  She met Ro racing back in. He was backlit by the club lights he’d turned on in the main room. Between those and the dim lighting of the Cage Room she could see his agitation. He held something in his hand.

  He blinked when he saw her brandishing the whip. Plucking it deftly from her grip, he said, “You were worried for me. Thank you.” He touched her cheek. “I’m not used to people worrying about me.”

  She imagined he wasn’t. He looked capable of handling anything.

  He hefted a chunk of cement cinderblock, held it sideways so she could clearly read the spray-painted words. “Someone threw this through the stained-glass window.”

  “‘Pornographer’…?”

  He turned it until the offending word faced the floor. He said nothing.

  “Who did this?”

  Ro shrugged. “Good question.”

  “Someone who doesn’t approve of your business….”

  “Yes.”

  “…and someone who thinks you’re a pornographer.” A horrible thought occurred to her.

  Tracking it, he frowned. “No. I’m not a pornographer.”

  Lizbeth felt chastened by the disappointment in his voice.

  He continued with dignity. “I run a fetish nightclub. A well-organized, clean, and highly supervised club for consenting adults.”

  “Of course you do. I know that.” She stared at the hunk of cement. “Aren’t you going to call the police?”

  Ro laughed, a cynical sound. “Not this time. I did a few weeks ago. I asked them to clear some noisy transients from the alley—you know, next to the sidewalk where the line forms. When the cops showed up and saw some people in bondage gear, they didn’t bother. They called The Dungeon a titty bar to my face. Said it attracts trash.” A small facial tic twitched next to Ro’s eye. “They didn’t clear the transients. I doubt they’d try real hard to find the vandal, seeing as how they share his sentiments.”

  “They can’t just—”

  “They can. They have. It baffles me how ignorance can flourish to the point where peace officers don’t do their jobs. I could pursue it—it wouldn’t be difficult to bring a lawsuit—but that’s not my bag anymore. This stupid vandalism, it’s not what’s important.”

  Ro set the cement down. “I haven’t given you anything close to proper aftercare.” He enfolded her in a comforting bear hug. “Mostly because I hadn’t planned on ending the scene quite so abruptly.”

  Lizbeth enjoyed the bass vibration of his voice. She felt enclosed and safe in his arms, which seemed contradictory: he’d been the one hitting her. And then having sex with her. Emotions swirled through her: deep shame, undampened lust, vulnerability, fascination. The pain hadn’t really hurt. Well, it had, but it had gone deeper than that. Deeper and sweeter. She’d felt so wonderful, euphoric and floaty, and then it had all crashed. Literally. “Aftercare,” she murmured, snuggling into him, needing the comfort. She felt his warm exhalation against her hair. “I like aftercare.”

  “Most submissives do.”

  She stiffened against him. His words had been like icy water poured over her. “I’m not submissive.” She stepped away.

  Ro looked pained. “You’re magnificent. Brave. Assertive.” He reached for her, but she dodged his grasp. His eyes telegraphed his disapproval. His disappointment. And…his hurt?

  She hated hurting him. It surprised her, how much she hated it. But she hated what he’d said more. “You called me submissive.”

  “Lizbeth. You are an amazing woman. Responsive and sensual.” He made a small movement of his shoulders that was almost a shrug. “You took what you wanted, didn’t you?”

  “Yes…”

  “You don’t feel regrets?”

  “No. But you called me—”

  “I call you my fantasy come to life.” He was looking into her eyes when he said it. She could see the truth of his words. Her heart fluttered pleasurably. “Am I? That’s nice.”

  Ro’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Nice? I practically call you a goddess, and you say I’m ‘nice.’ Wonderful.”

  They gazed at each other. She felt the pull of him. Resisted. “Ro. I hope you won’t take this wrong, but I’d like to go process all this.”

  He was nodding before she even finished. “I understand. You’ll be back? You’ll be in touch?”

  She eased away. “Certainly.” It would be foolish to leap into a relationship with Ro, the way her heart and her body wanted. Too crazy and too soon. Even if he was the most intense thing she’d ever experienced. The pile of doggy-doo that was her old life was still being scooped. Ted living in her apartment made things extra messy. How could she explain him to Ro? She’d have to confess her lack of spine in kicking Ted out, and that would just confirm his diagnosis of “submissive.”

  She had to get rid of Ted. She swallowed. “Ro, I really should go.”

  He gazed at her. “Okay. At least promise me you’ll come back on Friday. It’s The Dungeon’s first Crime and Punishment Party. Should be lots of fun.” His eyes sparkled as he offered her a small, wicked smile. “No participation required.”

  Lizbeth was already nodding. “Definitely!” Then, because she couldn’t resist the cruel curve of his lips, she stepped against him and planted a good-bye kiss before leaving to deal with her unwanted roommate.

  Days later, she was still trying to get rid of Ted.

  “This is so great,” he enthused as they passed through another savory cloud of aroma outside another popular Santa Monica promenade restaurant. “I’ll miss this when we go back home. Let’s read the menu.” He pulled her, too hard, to another plastic-laminated menu just off the restaurant’s patio seating area. Giorgiana’s Italian Cottage, was this one. Smallish and crowded with beautifully dressed, exquisitely tanned men and women. Most everyone looked thin, healthy, and suspiciously blond.

  “Quaint,” Ted observed. The touch of his finger to his lip was an affectation he’d developed seemingly overnight, as was the precise walk, so different from the head-down stride he’d had in Alabama. Los Angeles was bringing out a strange side of him. It was as if he’d absorbed the week’s bright sunshine into himself, only to emit its glow during the city nights. Or maybe his exuberance was pride in his new clothes. He’d always lived in loose jeans or khakis with a knit shirt in a neutral shade. The purple shirt he wore kept shocking her with its splash of vibrant color, and his new black jeans fit snugly over Doc Marten boots.

  She felt her legs swish against the medium-length black silk skirt she’d chosen. Tonight was a special occasion.

  She planned to instruct Ted to go back home. Alone. Immediately.

  She wasn’t sure why it was so hard to unload him. It had something to do with his inoffensive fondness of her, expressed in countless small ways that would’ve had her delirious with joy, back in Alabama. And it had something to do with his enthusiasm for Los Angeles and all the exciting activities it offered—an enthusiasm she definitely shared.

  But mostly it had to do with her lack of spine. Tonight, finally, that would change, she swore to herself.

  He was humming a new Kylie Minogue song and smiling at a group of men behind them in the line to check in with the restaurant host, who was yet another handsome man. Though not, of course, as attractive as Ro.

  She missed Ro. The nights away from him were torture. The only thing that cooled her ardor was his pronouncement that she was submissive. That still rankled.

  All the more reason to redouble her efforts at becoming more dominant. No way was she going to stay a victimized little dog, not here in what was supposed to be her big-city fresh start, her new life.

  Seated at their intimate round table, next to the sidewalk and near enough to a heat lamp to remind her of Ro once more, Lizbeth silently
rehearsed her eviction speech.

  A scrape of Ted’s chair drew her attention, and she felt her first misgiving when Ted scooted so close their arms bumped.

  She should have just tossed his luggage out when he’d gone shopping. Changed the locks.

  Exasperated, she patted his arm, twice—pat-pat—before surreptitiously edging away and turning her attention to the bustling promenade.

  People strolled the sidewalk, on their way to other restaurants, shops, and movies, going in twos and threes and individually, too. Did any of them have the same kind of issues, she wondered? Was there anyone out there balancing an unsavory task with painful personal growth? Would someone be able to offer her advice?

  Ro’s handsome visage flashed in her memory. She blinked, dissolving it. Not yet.

  She glanced at Ted and felt a spike of horror. He stared seductively at her; there was no other way to describe it. Her heart sank. He was wooing her.

  He had no clue that the time for wooing was in the past. If it had ever existed.

  Any other woman, she mused. Anyone else would be gobbling up such attention. He was handsome, in his own way. Dressed neatly. Had plenty in the finances department, with an upwardly trending portfolio. Enjoyed good food.

  She had to cut him off before it got worse.

  “Wine? Yes. Two bottles of your best Chianti,” Ted told their waiter.

  “No,” she objected.

  He waved away her words like so much wind.

  Ted always had been bossy. But not dominant. He was no Ro.

  The wine came. Ted tried it, gave the waiter the go-ahead to pour. He lifted his glass and said, “To us. To love. To us, my love,” and gulped it down.

  She shook her head and sipped a tiny amount.

  Encouraged, he took her hand. “I know things haven’t been perfect between us, but that’s all going to change now.” He gazed at her with a desperate sort of determination. He drank the rest of his wine.

  Before they received their appetizers, he flagged the strolling flower girl and ordered two dozen long-stemmed red roses delivered to their table. Again Lizbeth’s objections were nullified, so the blossoms bristled next to her empty plate, a thornless offering. But when Ted signaled the three strolling violinists to plant themselves at their table and play one love song after another, hot embarrassment rose to her cheeks—for him, and for herself. The servers had to bend themselves around the entourage to plant the entrees. Ted raised his glass again. “To meals shared with loved ones.” He drank.