Hostile Takeover

by Hill, Joey W

  “I have no intention of untying you.” His body pressed up against her as she drew in a breath at the size of the erection pressed against her sore bare buttocks. The deadly calm of his voice made a cold knot in her belly. “You’re such a good little researcher, Marcella. Tell me what consensual non-consent is.”

  She swallowed. “It’s when the slave or sub…when her safe word is only for a medical emergency. Within the boundaries they’ve set, the Dom can do anything he wishes.”

  “Are you willing to give me CNC?”

  She was angry with him, frustrated beyond belief, confused. He’d had CNC with her from the very beginning. When he exercised his Mastery over her, the moment he touched her, she trusted him down to the level of her soul. It was one of the many reasons she knew what she knew. Could she set aside the hurt, the pain, to embrace that right now? Or would she tell him to fuck off and let her go?

  She knew the answer to that. She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Boundaries?”

  “You know them. What happened to the blonde you were going to fuck?”

  In answer, he stepped away from her. A cane hit her upper thighs with the fast whipping air noise that made it even worse. She shrieked, not expecting the strike. Pressing her forehead back against the wood, she set her teeth, managing the pain that sang through her nerve endings.

  “Your safe word is simple. Red. Like your ass is going to be. If you use it, I’ll make the decision, based on your condition, whether you have a medical emergency.”

  He passed his hand over her buttocks, used it to slap her ass several times, warming it up anew. Whereas Master L and Frank had been cautious, he knew just how hard to hit to wake up everything he’d done to her last night. Then he picked up a switch. He wasn’t playing or going for half measures. He was aiming for pain and punishment, pure and simple. If he thought he could beat her into submission, he was sadly mistaken. As he alternated its use with the spanking and the cane, she started to feel the burn, started to crave toward and writhe away from the blows at once. Honey from her pussy was running down her legs even as she shrieked at the pain.

  Merciless, he bound her waist to keep her still, and as the volume of her cries rose, he strapped a rubber ball gag in her mouth to muffle the cries. She could still manage Red if needed, no matter how garbled, but if she went into full out screaming, as she had a feeling was going to happen, the gag would keep her from overwhelming the room.

  The voyeurs were back. She could see them in the corners of her eyes. The K&A men mostly didn’t do public performances, but in the past couple years, she knew Ben had done it more often. It was more impersonal, after all. Right?

  The pain of that thought was replaced with another kind of pain. He brought down what felt like a thin, hardened strip of rawhide to crisscross the existing marks, rapid, light blows that raked across the nerve endings without real damage but which delivered intense pain. She was moving and wiggling her ass, trying to get away from the agony. She was screaming “no, no, no…stop, please” because it really hurt. After last night, then this morning, oh God, it was too much.

  But she wouldn’t use that safe word. She went in and out of pain, struggling for that zone, but it was too much. She was crying, even as her body was stoked for a release, nipples hard, pussy wet. When he put his hand in her hair, yanking her head back, she looked up into the face of the devil himself. He hadn’t put a cloth with the ball gag, so she knew her saliva was running over her chin, her makeup smeared from tears, her nose running. Completely exposed to him, raw and vulnerable. “Five more minutes,” he said.

  “No…” she whimpered.

  “You can do five more minutes.” He dropped his hand to her cunt, rubbed through her slickness. “Wet and fuckable. Say it. You can do five more minutes.”

  She stared into his eyes. “Yes. I can.” With the gag, the words were garbled, but clear enough for him.

  It was the longest five minutes she’d ever experienced, and when it was over, she was gasping, hanging in her bindings. She let out a hoarse scream as he spanked her ass cheeks with both hands, hard, sending all the painful sensation reverberating through her. Then he pressed up behind her, clasping her buttocks in a bruising grip. Putting his mouth to her neck, he bit hard enough to draw blood. She wished there was a lower crosspiece to rub herself against, because her clit was throbbing.

  He’d reacted the way he would if she belonged to him and had defied him, actively seeking punishment to reinforce the boundaries between them. There was something about that which was important, though she couldn’t wrap her mind around it right this second, fighting the storm inside her.

  Now he was pulling her pants back on. He left the laces loose, and she cried out as he found her secret, sliding into the lubricated channel. She worked herself against his hand shamelessly, wishing he’d touch her pussy. But of course he didn’t.

  “You came here to be fucked tonight.”

  She twisted her head around enough to give him a glassy half-glare, despite the tears. “Yeah,” she rasped. “You got everything revved up, and if you weren’t man enough to take care of the itch, I was going where it could be scratched. That’s what a slut does, right?”

  “You’re better than that.”

  “When you fuck the blonde at the bar, are you hoping she’ll help you forget last night?”

  His lips tightened. He moved his hand around to rub her clit through the thin latex. She ground herself against his erection, trying to drive him as crazy as he was driving her. He was flexing against her ass, as if he was fucking her. Then he captured her breast, tugging on her nipple.

  “God…” She was gasping as he worked her up higher. Her ass and thighs were throbbing, yet the wash of heat that came after that level of punishment made her want more, which was crazy because it had hurt like hell. Her mind was coming apart.

  “Ben… Master…”

  He stopped, pressing his forehead hard against her hair, his fingers spasming around her breast. “No,” he said in a growl. “No.”

  “Yes.” She set her teeth. “Master.” Don’t pull away.

  He stepped back, hands leaving her. Retrieving her bra, he hooked it around her, positioned the cups and secured the straps. He tightened up the lacings on the pants with one jerk that drove the breath from her. Then he freed her wrists and ankles. Coiling his arm around her waist, he brought her back to the floor on the wobbling stilettos. He gripped her other hand, holding her fast as he led her out of the public play area.

  When she saw they were headed toward the exit, she balked, but he simply hitched her up on his hip and kept going until she put her feet back down and let him walk her. “I’m not done tonight.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “I’m not going unless you are.”

  He suppressed a hard sigh. Yeah, he was probably like Mount Vesuvius about to blow, but she was already at the eruption point. She wasn’t going to be shut down. Before she could say anything further, she was yanked through the door, and they were out on the sidewalk on the west side of the building. He was crossing the street, taking her toward a K&A limo.

  “I’m…not…going.” She planted her feet this time, yanked hard, and got away from him, though she almost tripped herself doing so. She kicked the shoes away, faced him on the balls of her feet.

  When he turned toward her, she didn’t give herself time to register his expression or anything else. She led with her emotions, did something she knew was wrong, on so many levels. She punched him dead in the mouth with all the strength she had.

  Ben was pissed, torn up in twelve different ways. The guy he’d been a lifetime ago knew only one way to respond to a physical attack. Catching her arm and her hair, he twisted her around, slammed her against the side of the limo. He pulled his strength back at the last moment, he wasn’t that crazed, but it wasn’t that which could harm her. It was what was raging out of control in him, what had goaded him to get her out of there and into a limo,
out of his sight. Now.

  He hadn’t restrained himself as much as he’d thought. She stumbled, hit her face on the metal corner of the rear window, letting out a surprised yelp of pain. When she managed to turn toward him, trying to regain her feet, he saw the bloom of blood. Worse, he saw her recognize the boiling, deadly rage pouring out of him. Every animal knew when they’d pushed a predator too far. The heart would leap into the throat, and the feet would automatically try to get into motion, to run, even as the mind’s fear would slow them down, just as the predator got faster, calmer, colder.

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t run. She wasn’t that smart. She was trying to take another aggressive, fuck-you stance, and say something that would be entirely unwise.

  He spun her back toward the limo before she could do it, startling another surprised cry out of her. “This is done,” he said against her ear, pushing himself hard against her body, trapping her against the car. He could hear that pulse rabbiting beneath his grip. “We’re not friends, we’re not lovers. You don’t know a fucking thing about me. You don’t have what I need, you’ll never have it. All your fucking useless dreams about me are just bullshit little-girl fantasies. That’s it. We’re done.”

  He was hot and hard, a rutting monster fueled by watching Frank study her, Master L’s hands touching her skin, their eyes calculating how she would surrender to them.

  “Let go of me,” she said. Her voice was a shaky whisper that would have wrung mercy out of a stone. He felt nothing. He knew how to be mean, so mean that nothing in the world would fuck with him. When she tried to break free, he twisted her arm higher behind her back. Sliding his other hand around, he squeezed her breasts with no finesse, pure brutal possession, intending for it to be uncomfortable, to take only his pleasure and give her none. She struggled, but that just increased the pain to her arm, a deterrent. A sob caught in her throat.

  “I’m not the prince in your Beauty and the Beast fairy tale.” He wanted to die right now, because this was all wrong, but it had to be done. He had to do it. “You’re going home, and this is over. You take that job in Milan, and you don’t look back.”

  Suddenly, he knew he wasn’t alone. Max stood to his left, just behind him. Tossing dark hair out of his eyes, Ben cocked his head. He gave Max a dangerous fuck-off look, but Max met it head on, his eyes cool. In control in a way Ben wasn’t. “It’s time to let her go, Mr. O’Callahan,” he said. “Right now.”

  “Yeah. You’re right about that.” Ben released her, stepped back. He didn’t watch her sag against the limo. He pivoted, was walking away when Max caught her. She would push away from Max immediately, would try to stand on her own. He knew that about her. It would have made him smile if a rusty knife wasn’t cutting into his chest. He didn’t see the tears or the broken look on her face, but he didn’t need to do so. It was branded on his fucking black heart. He hadn’t needed to remove her mask to see every terrible emotion go through those beautiful brown eyes.

  You can take shit off the street, dress it up, but it’s still shit. It stains everything eventually.

  He didn’t look back, his feet pointed toward the darkest hole of night.

  * * * * *

  Max didn’t try to touch her again, but he did stay close. “Miss Marcie? Are you all right?”

  Marcie stared at the shadowed edge of the parking lot where Ben had disappeared. “Isn’t that a funny thing to say?” she said, her voice high and strange. “When everything is obviously not all right.”

  Max took a cautious step closer. Her legs were shaking hard. She had that lovely ass of hers pressed against the car door for support, but her wrist was red where Ben had gripped her, and she’d apparently hit her lip when he slammed her against the car. Jesus Christ, what was going on here? None of the guys had ever treated a woman like this. They’d kill any man who did. Yeah, Ben was into handing out the pain, but to women who craved it for the right reasons. Definitely not in this context.

  “I guess people say that because the alternative is saying nothing,” he ventured. “Being silent when it feels like something needs to be said.”

  Marcie’s gaze shifted to him then, her eyes brimming. “Yeah,” she said brokenly. “But sometimes there’s nothing to say, Max.” She took a deep breath that seemed to cost her dearly. “I need you to do me a really big favor.”

  “No.”

  Her expression flickered. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

  “Yeah, I do. I have to tell Mr. Kensington about this.”

  “I’m an adult. It’s my decision to share or not share.” Her voice quivered again. “I swear to God, if you say I’m not an adult, I’m going to find a blunt object and beat you to death with it.”

  Despite his best effort, his lips almost twitched. Jesus, she had spirit. Her eyes were actually flashing, even as she swiped at her tears with an impatient hand. “No ma’am. You’re as adult as they get. Hey, no. You stay here.”

  She’d been about to push away from the car door, and from the direction of her look, he knew she was going to retrieve her shoes. Stilling her with a gentle hand and a firm look, he strode over to them. Picking them up, he marveled as he always did that women could walk in those things, but he bet Marcie had worked them to the nth degree.

  She had a made-for-sex body, but one with a lot of strength to it. He’d seen that punch, was surprised Ben hadn’t spurted blood. She’d had the balance, aim and force that said she knew what she was doing. Which meant she shouldn’t have done it, but it was obvious there was a lot of emotional shit happening on both sides. Besides which, Max knew Ben was a way more lethal fighter than Marcie, even if she had ten black belts.

  Since Ben had shown that side of himself in a way he shouldn’t have either, it made Marcie’s response now even more impressive. Max knew men who would have crapped themselves from that deadly backwash that Ben had dished out. They wouldn’t be standing on their own bare feet, trying to hold it together and talk their driver into all sorts of foolishness.

  He set his jaw, reminding himself of the dangerous influence of tears and a determined woman. As he came back toward the limo, he could see her gearing up for another try. But Max had his own code. “No,” he repeated, before she could say anything. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Matt needs to know about this.”

  “Because I’m a woman.”

  “Yes. And you’re one of theirs.” He nodded into the night, after Ben. “There’s nothing they take more serious than your well-being. He knows that.” Which opened a whole other set of interesting questions.

  “Can you at least give me twenty-four hours before you tell Matt?”

  He suppressed a curse at that look, part plea, part demand. Jesus, what the hell was the matter with Ben? He was half tempted to go kick his ass himself. Except Max knew Ben. When she’d landed that punch, something had welled up in the guy, something Max had sensed before from him, but had never seen unleashed like that. He had comrades with PTSD, when the dark shit came up and took over, spilled out like pus running from an old wound. What he’d just seen had felt a lot like that.

  Unless he was gravely mistaken about Ben’s character, Max had a feeling that when the man’s head got back on straight and he thought about what he’d just done to her… Hell, he was probably going to figure out a way to kick his own ass, even before Matt Kensington could do it. Which was coming, Max was pretty sure of that. Unfortunately, Ben had probably intended that with this stunt tonight. It was as if he was burning his bridges deliberately. Fucking bastard was all over the map. This wasn’t good.

  “I’ll think about it. No promises. Let me get you home.”

  “Okay.” She seemed to accept that was the best she was going to get. “Let me go in and clean up my face first. I’m not going back to my sister’s looking like this.” She unlaced the mask, scratching her snarled hair. “Damn, I’m a mess.”

  “Fucking hell. Did he do that?” When she raised a surprised face to him, showing the black eye even more clear
ly, Max was ready to discard any sympathy for Ben and lead the lynch mob himself.

  Her brow furrowed, then cleared. “Oh no. That was work. An investigative case I was doing for Pickard. Security guy got the jump on me in an alley over at Pfeiffer. I was going through their Dumpster.”

  “Of course. Jesus, girl. You’re a magnet for trouble.”

  “Magnet for everything but Ben, apparently.” She stared off into the night again, and Max touched her arm.

  “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Max, I have to go back in. Ben didn’t let me get my clothes and purse out of the locker room. Asshole.”

  Max pressed his lips hard against a smile, though it was balanced with something far more grim, looking at her strained face. No way she was going back into Surreal. Not in this kind of mood. “I’ll go get them. Tell me the number and the code you used.”

  When she gave him an obstinate look, he chose a different tack. “Do you really want to go back in there?” he asked quietly.

  “No.”

  “Then let me go get your stuff. You can clean up in the limo. You’ll find mirror, wet towels, all that girl stuff in the storage compartments.”

  “They’re always prepared, aren’t they?” She gave a bitter chuckle.

  Not always, Max thought. When she slid into the limo, she gracefully accepted his steadying touch so she managed it without her knees buckling, but then she leveled a glare on him.

  “If you engage the child locks while you’re gone, I’ll hotwire the limo and leave you here.”