by Force, Marie
If this is how he plans to punish me, sign me up. I’m so turned on that I squirm, seeking some relief.
“Be still,” he says, stroking himself with careful movements that are probably far gentler than usual.
Most guys like to be stroked hard and fast. I can’t imagine he’s any different, but he probably can’t take hard or fast right now.
“Does that feel good?” I ask him.
“Not as good as usual.”
“Let me do it.”
“Not this time.”
“Not even with my mouth?”
His eyes flare with heat and interest. “If you want to.”
“I do.” I scramble to my knees and reach out to bring him closer. I don’t like the angle. “Sit on the bed.” Bringing a pillow with me, I drop to my knees in front of him, kneeling on the pillow. Much better. Up close, the bruising is even more pronounced than I thought. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s fine. Just be gentle.”
“Mmmm,” I say, letting my lips vibrate against the wide head. “I can be gentle.”
He sucks in a sharp, deep breath.
And then I take the full length of him in one deep swallow that has him shouting from the pleasure.
“Fuck, Leah. Jesus fucking Christ!” His fingers tangle into my hair. He’s holding on for dear life.
I lash him with my tongue and breathe through my nose while my throat tightens around the head. I learned a long time ago how to control my gag reflex, and my earlier training serves me well now. He’s the biggest guy I’ve ever been with, so it’s not easy to take him this way, but I do it anyway because I want to please him and make him feel good. Normally, I’d tease and torment him until he’s begging for release, but in deference to his injured cock, I decide to move things along by cupping his balls and pressing my fingertip against the spot behind them that triggers an explosive release.
I swallow every drop and then slowly slide up the length of him, which is still hard even after an epic orgasm. “Was that gentle enough for you?” I ask, my voice raspier than usual.
He falls back on the bed, hands over his face as his cock continues to twitch.
I crawl onto the bed next to him, resting my hand on his chest where I can feel his heart pounding. I take tremendous satisfaction in knowing I ruined him.
Quite a while later, he removes his hands from his face and turns his head to look at me. “Where in the hell did you learn how to do that?”
“I told you—high school.”
“Tell me the rest.”
I try not to squirm. I don’t talk about this stuff. Ever. But his unwavering glare puts me on notice that he’s not going to let it go. “The other girls were mean to me, so I blew their boyfriends and made sure they found out about it. Practice makes perfect.”
“They were mean to you? Why?”
“The boys liked me. That pissed off the girls. I don’t know. It’s not like we ever had an actual conversation about it.” They were too busy making my life into a living nightmare in person and on social media.
“How did they find out?”
“I told them.”
“So you went right up to them and said I blew your boyfriend?”
“Nah, I took pictures and texted them. It was more fun that way.”
His face goes blank with shock. “You took pictures of yourself… Doing that?”
“Yep.” I hope he’s not planning to lecture me about all the many ways those pictures can come back to bite me in the ass. So far they haven’t. But that doesn’t mean they never will.
“Leah…”
“Save the lecture. I know it was stupid, but it served my purposes at the time.”
“Which were?”
“To teach the mean girls a lesson about what happens when you’re an asshole.”
“Did it work?”
“Nah, they’re still assholes, but it sure did make me feel better.” For a while anyway, until the boys started talking and things actually got worse. But there’s no need to go there. “It was a long time ago. Doesn't matter anymore.” But oh how it had mattered then. God, how it had mattered.
“Where were your parents while you were blowing the football team?”
“My dad worked all the time, and my mom was usually drunk by the time I got home from school. They didn’t care about what I was doing. My mom fell down the stairs when I was a junior and died instantly from a broken neck.”
“Leah… God, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t look at me that way. I don’t want your damned pity.”
“I’m not offering pity.”
“Whatever it is, then, keep it. It sucked. I survived it, and then I left for college and never looked back.”
“Did you have siblings?”
“Nope—just me. They adopted me when they were in their forties. I’m not sure my mom ever got over not being able to have kids of her own. I think that’s why she drank.” Enough of this maudlin nonsense. “I thought you brought me in here to punish me?”
“I did, but then you blew my head off—both of them.”
“So that’s it? You’re all out of steam? I know you’re older than me, but I didn’t peg you for being geriatric.” The words are barely out of my mouth when he pounces, startling a shriek out of me as he picks me up effortlessly and drapes me over his lap, arranging me facedown so my ass is right where he wants it.
There’s something so fucking arousing about how insanely strong he is, and while I might normally object to being “arranged” by a man, when he does it, it’s sexy as fuck.
“What’s your safe word?” he asks in that gruff, authoritative tone that I love so much.
“Bitchy, as in you are often bitchy.”
His hand comes down on my cheek—hard. Hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. He does it again and again and again until I’m a sobbing mess of want and need and desire so sharp, it takes my breath away. Flattening his hand on my ass, he caresses the area he spanked until pain turns to pleasure. His fingers slide into my pussy from behind, the angle different but no less arousing than what I’m used to. He’s exceptionally good at locating my G spot and presses on it until I explode.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to come.”
“If you didn’t want me to come,” I say, gasping, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?” He does it again. “This?”
“Stop!”
“You don’t like it?”
“I love it, but if you don’t want me to come, don’t do that!”
His low chuckle makes me smile because it’s such a rare sound, and I love knowing that I made him laugh. He continues to work me until I’m coming again, harder than the first time, if that’s even possible.
I’m like a wet noodle when he lifts me again and brings me down on the bed, brushing the hair back from my face. I wince when my abused ass makes contact with the comforter.
“Look at me.”
I open my eyes to find beautiful brown eyes gazing down at me with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Uh-huh. You?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
If he’s good, I’m good.
“I want to fuck you so bad.”
To some women, that might be the least romantic thing they could ever hear from a man. For this woman who’s wanted this man for so long, they’re the most romantic words I’ve ever heard. “What’s stopping you?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“You want to try?”
“So fucking bad.”
I ease my legs apart, offering myself to him. “Take what you want.”
“You shouldn’t say that to me when you have no idea of the full extent of what I want.”
“Tell me.”
He moves so he’s on top of me, the heavy weight of him pinning me to the bed. “I want everything.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t know what everything e
ntails.”
“I assume you’ll show me?”
He pauses for a long, breathless moment, staring down at me in the fierce, intense way of his, before he appears to make some sort of decision. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”
“Call me crazy, but everything is going to take longer than one night.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“Nah, I’m just on to you, and you hate that, don’t you?”
“You’re incredibly naïve.”
“No, I’m not. I just trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.” As he speaks, his cock slides through the slickness between my legs and nudges at my clit.
It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. “Why not?”
“You don’t even know me.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t tell me what I need to know.”
“When I tell you I’m kinky, that means I want to tie you up, drive you crazy with toys and floggers and fuck your ass, to begin with.”
A full-body shudder ripples through me like a wave coming to shore. “Okay.”
“Just okay?”
I meet his incredulous stare with confidence and certainty. I want him—any way I can have him. “Just okay.”
And then he’s kissing me, consuming me with deep strokes of his tongue. “Hands over your head,” he says before going back for more. He pins my hands over my head and pinches my nipple so tightly, it brings tears to my eyes and has me raising my hips, seeking him. I want to feel the painful stretch of my flesh accommodating his so badly, I nearly drool from imagining what it’ll be like to take that big cock.
“Do we need a condom?” he asks. “I’m clean and I can prove it.”
“No, we don’t, and I’m clean, too.”
“You’re sure about birth control? I don’t want any surprises, Leah. I mean it.”
“I’m sure, and trust me, I’m in no way ready to be anyone’s mother. I’ve been on the pill since I was fifteen and have never missed a day.”
He pushes into me, and it hurts. Like hell.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
“Ah, God,” he whispers gruffly against my ear, goose bumps erupting on my arms and legs. “You’re so fucking tight.” He withdraws. “Hang on.”
Part of me is relieved and the other part is bereft that he stopped. Where did he go? He goes into the massive walk-in closet and returns with something tucked under his arm. He picks up the lube that’s still on the bedside table from before.
I’m breathless as I wait to see what he’s going to do.
First, he applies the lube to his fingers and slides them into me, spreading the liquid all around. It heats on contact, which makes the desire run hotter through my veins. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any hotter, he produces a large dildo that he covers with more lube before pushing it against my opening. It’s big, but not as big as he is.
Dear God…
He uses the toy to stretch me, sliding it in and then retreating, doing this over and over again until I’m sobbing and begging him to give me the real thing. After lubing up his cock, he pushes against me again, and this time, my body yields enough to allow him in. “Ah, yes,” he says on a long sigh. “There we go. That’s my girl.”
I want so badly to be his girl, to belong to him and to know he’s mine—and only mine. I want that so much that I burn from the longing that fills my heart and soul. I could make him happy. I know I could, and if I had him, I’d never want for anything else for the rest of my life. And yes, I fully realize that’s an awfully big deal for someone who thought she wasn’t ready for forever. If forever means every day with him, I can make myself ready.
Even with the preparation and the lube, it’s still a battle to take all of him, and he’s taking it easy due to his injury. By the time he’s fully seated inside me, I’m having one orgasm after another. The emotional overload is nearly as overwhelming as the physical. I’m overtaken by him, surrounded, filled and consumed. One deep stroke at a time, he’s ruining me for anyone else.
His face is tight with tension that I wish I could soothe, but with my hands pinned above my head, I can’t do anything but accept what he’s giving me.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him.
“Not too bad.”
“Stop if it hurts.”
His gruff laugh is becoming one of my favorite sounds. “Stopping is the last thing I want to do.” He releases my hands. “Keep them up there.” Reaching under me, he grips my ass and lifts me to improve the angle of penetration.
We’re such a tight fit that every time he thrusts into me, I gasp from the impact and the almost-painful stretch of my flesh accommodating his. I’ve heard that bigger is better, but until him, I’d never experienced how true that saying really is. Everything is different with him, maybe because I love him. Despite what he says, I can tell this isn’t entirely comfortable for him, so I squeeze my internal muscles and draw a deep groan from him. I do it again and again until he comes with a shout of pleasure that triggers another release for me.
I’ve never had so many orgasms in my life as I do with him, and I have a feeling I haven’t yet seen a fraction of what he’s capable of. I can’t wait to do it all with him.
This is madness, and it has to stop. I said I wasn’t going to touch her, so how did I end up naked on top of her after having come inside her, something I never, ever do without a condom. It’s like she’s cast some sort of spell on me and all my common sense has deserted me. But, God, even with a bruised dick, it had been like heaven to sink into her tight, hot, wet pussy. I can honestly say that the kinkiest sex I’ve ever had had nothing on what I just did with her, even with my aching cock protesting the entire time.
I withdraw from her and land on the bed, arm over my eyes as I try to catch my breath.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
The question pisses me off. Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? Except, I can’t seem to slow the crazy-ass heartbeat that makes me breathless. It also doesn’t help that the sound of her voice has my cock stirring for round two.
Hearing her say she was bullied as a teenager and listening to her talk about how she got her revenge broke something in me. The thought of those bitches being mean to her makes me want to murder the little bastards who made her life hell. Of course the boys liked her. Look at her, for Christ’s sake. She’s every guy’s wet dream. She’s definitely mine and has been for a while now.
“You want me to go?” she asks.
I realize I never answered her when she asked if I was okay. “You don’t have to.” Yes, she does! Remember how we wanted to get back to normal? We can’t do that with her here. I’m trying to recall what normal looked like before yesterday, before I touched her and doomed myself to this crazy need that only seems to multiply exponentially every time I’m near her.
All I know is I don’t want her to go. I want to keep her close so nothing else can harm or hurt her, especially after hearing there’s a guy out there who won’t take no for an answer. That scares the hell out of me for reasons I usually keep buried deep in the back of my mind between visits to Elena, the only woman I’ve ever loved. She was beaten so badly by her boyfriend that she suffered irreversible brain damage. Ever since her parents got too old to care for her at home, I pay for her to live at a top facility in Pacific Palisades. I visit her on the first Sunday of every month and then spend the rest of the time trying not to think about what might’ve been for her—and for me—if she’d only chosen me instead of the son of a bitch who ruined her life.
God, why am I even thinking about this shit? I try very hard never to think about what happened to her, except for those few hours every month when I’m forced to confront how badly I failed her.
This is why I shouldn’t let Leah get to me. She’s stirring up all sorts of shit I’d prefer not to think about.
So tell her to leave. You don’t owe her anything just because you fucked her.
I make the mistake o
f looking over at her, gazing at me with her brows knitted with concern. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m fucking fine. That’s what I tell myself every fucking day so I can get through another day. The only pleasures I allow myself are the ones I take at the gym and at the clubs owned by the Quantum partners in LA and New York. There I can fully be myself and indulge the inner demons that plague me until I’m lost in a scene that requires my complete attention. That’s what I know and understand.
This, with her… I don’t want to understand this. It’s been fifteen years since a woman made me feel anything, and I can’t deal with the anxious, stressed-out sensations that come with caring. I remember all too well what it was like to love a woman who loved someone else, who chose him, and then paid for that choice with a life-altering brain injury that changed my life, too.
“I’ll go,” she says, starting to get up.
The thought of that guy possibly lying in wait for her has me grasping her arm. “Stay.” I don’t want her under my skin, but I do want her safe, and the only way I can ensure her safety is to keep her here with me.
Then she smiles at me, and I realize how completely and utterly fucked I am.
Chapter 11
I wake at five, as usual. However, having Leah wrapped around me is anything but usual. My cock reacts to her nearness, and I bite back a groan. It hurts more today than yesterday, and I bet I know why. But it was so worth it. Moving carefully, I extricate myself from her and get up to hit the gym before work.
I spend an hour putting my body through the punishing routine that keeps it honed and in top shape. I’m much sharper and more focused at work after a good workout than I am without it. Before returning to my place, I pop into the coffee shop in the lobby and pick up coffees, with the extra cream that Leah likes, and scones. The minute I step foot in the door, I can tell she’s gone. It’s like the life force has been removed from the place or something equally ridiculous.
I stick my head in the bedroom to confirm. The bed is neatly made, and there’s no sign that she was ever there except for the lingering scent of her that fills the air. I’m oddly disappointed that she’s gone, even as I tell myself I should be relieved. Her departure saves me from awkward morning-after crap, even as I suspect it wouldn’t be awkward with her. It probably would’ve been entertaining.