by Frankie Love
He leans back against the door as he closes it behind him.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“I’m…”
“Did Jack send you to spy on me? Did he tell you to go through my things? See what you could sniff out? What have you found?”
I’m paralyzed with too many kinds of fear and wrongness. I try to speak, but all I can say is, “No,” and it sounds pathetic, even to me.
He says, “I won’t be angry,” but he sounds like the wrath of God. “You can tell me.” I still can’t speak. He takes a step nearer. I’m drenched. He must be able to smell me.
He rasps, “Whatever it is, it will be alright. As long as you tell me.”
I could confess everything to him. Every sin I ever committed in thought or word or deed. And I know it would be alright. I believe him. But I can’t speak.
It’s like a nightmare. The beast is about to eat you. And you could get away. One jump, one step to the side and you’d be free. But you’re paralysed. Frozen to the spot.
The only difference is, now, I want the beast to eat me.
He reaches out. Lifts my chin with his finger. Holds my eyes with his. I tremble from head to foot.
“What are you doing in my room, Tegan?”
I still can’t make a sound. My head shakes from side to side. I feel like I’m about to explode.
Before I can stop myself, I jump into his arms and wrap myself tight around him. I fasten my lips on his. The heat of his breath fills me. His tongue twirls with mine.
My pelvis rocks, sawing my pussy against the thick, hard ridge in the front of his pants.
He holds back. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He saved me from Aaron last night because he’s a gentleman.
He let me kiss him then, because he’s a gentleman. He’s old-school. Chivalrous.
He’s everything I could ever want in a man. But why would he be interested in a frivolous frump like me?
Why, when he could snap his fingers and have any woman he wanted.
But I want him so bad.
I kiss him harder.
He peels my arms off his neck. Of course. He’s right.
He should punish me.
Now I gush so hard I must have wet his pants. His eyes flash as his nostrils flare.
“Tegan,” I kiss him again. He’s going to push me away, I know he is. I just want every tang, every dark taste I can get from his lips first. I need to feel him crushing my breasts. Feel him hot and hard between my thighs. Just a moment longer, Please, before he discards me.
I don’t care that I’m making a complete idiot of myself. I’m burning with a raging hunger. Like I’m starving and he’s my last meal. Oh, God.
Some lucky woman can have this hero of a man, and I’m going to be tossed away on Aaron fucking O’Leary.
However low my opinion of myself is, I know I don’t deserve that creep. I fling my arms around Liam’s neck again.
Wrapped tight against the heat of his body, I feel better than I ever felt before this moment.
And it’s going to be over any second. And I can’t stand it.
He’s breathing hard. Slowly, firmly, he pulls my arms away again.
“You have to tell me why you’re in here, Tegan. Don’t make me force it out of you.”
“Oh.” Please force it out of me. But I want him to force it into me.
“Did Jack send you here?” his voice is hard. Stern. He’s making me catch fire inside.
I bite my lip as I shake my head. He grips my waist hard and shakes me. Oh, God, I want that.
“Tell me the truth, Tegan. I have to know.”
I shake my head harder.
His eyes narrow. He strides, lifts me to the big bed. Then he turns to sit on the edge. Like I weigh nothing at all, he drapes me face down over his knee.
“Tell me, Tegan,” he lifts my skirt. He lays his hand on the cheek of my ass. I jolt with a thrill mixed with a shot of fear.
“No,” is all I can say. And that comes out as a whisper. I want to tell him the truth, but I can’t make the words come out. I can’t speak.
Except to keep saying, “No.”
And that’s not what I want to say.
Chapter Six
Liam
Of course, there’s nothing in here for her to find. But I know Jack. I’m certain he would send the girl into my room to spy. I want to be kind to her, treat her tenderly. But I need to know.
“Tell me,” I don’t mean it to come out as a snarl. I’m too tense. Holding back is too hard.
But all she says is, “No.”
So I have to do it. I raise my hand and I ask her, just once more. I have to take a breath. The scent of her and the curve of her creamy, soft ass, make me harder than ever.
She shakes and she whispers, “No.”
“Tell me, butterfly.”
I drop my hand. Hard. Harder than I intended. My palm stings as I land a sharp thwack on her ass cheek.
She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes tight shut.
Her saying nothing makes me more and more suspicious. Maybe I misjudged her. What is her story, anyway? Is she the help or what?
Anger rises in me. Impatient, I slap her again. Right on the hot, red mark. This time I take a grip of her cheek. God damn, I want her so bad. Her hot flesh is soft under my stinging palm.
The crotch of her panties is soaked. The heat of her pussy warms the tips of my fingers as they curl around her ass and touch the top of her thigh.
Her soft panties drip so much, the fabric clings to every fold of her tempting lips. The outlines are too near to my fingers. I can’t hold back from swiping my fingertips up the length of her pussy.
She shakes and moans. I lick and suck my fingers.
She reaches back to grab my wrist. Of course, she’s right. I should not have allowed myself to get so carried away. If I lose control, there’s no knowing what will happen.
Then she surprises me.
With her hand shaking and her eyes glistening wet, she pulls my fingers to her. Parts her lips. Opens her mouth and licks my fingers. Then she takes them into her mouth.
Sucks them. Sinfully. Lasciviously.
“Oh, you are a bad girl.” She could be doing it to distract me. And I couldn’t deny it. I am distracted.
“But I have to know. Did you come to my room for Jack?”
At last, she looks in my eye. Her head shakes. Hard.
Can I trust her? My gut says ‘yes.’ My cock tells me another kind of ‘yes.’
I slap her ass again. Smack on the red mark. Harder this time. Her flesh is hot as it ripples under the blow. Her eyes light up and shine as she lets out a tiny, strained whimper.
Her eyes gleam like she wants more. And she’s got me totally confused now.
Her breasts bounce against my leg. She clings to my thigh.
In a tiny voice, she tells me, “You can do anything with me. Anything you want.”
Her eyes plead and her voice cracks, “I want you to.”
“Why are you here? What are you doing in my room?”
She flinches, like she’s afraid. “I shouldn’t have come. I know. But I wanted to be close to you. You make me feel safe.”
“You don’t feel safe in this house?”
“God, no.”
And she tells me her story.
Her father brought her up. He worked hard, and she adored him. He worked for Jack and they had a good life. Plenty of money. Always living on a ledge, though.
Reading between the lines, her father knew it could all come crashing down in a heartbeat, but he tried to keep it from her. Shield her. Protect her.
He told her he had a share in a bar. Whatever happened, that would come good. It would be their backstop. She figured it was a dream. Something he talked up to make her feel good. He was full of stories like that.
She’s highly intuitive, so she saw behind the curtain. And she loved him.
Then one night, he vanished.
Jack took her in.
Said he owed it to the friendship he had with her father. At first, he treated her well.
Then, one night, he wanted to treat her too well.
“He was lonely at the time,” she frowns as she tells me, “He might have been happy with a cuddle, maybe a couple of kisses. That’s what I thought. I decided that he’d been good to me, so I’d let him hold me.” Her face flinches at the memory and she looks up, pleading.
She blinks, hard. “But then he reached out. My reflexes kicked in.” She shakes her head, like she might make the memory shake out.
“I slapped him. Hard. Across the face, and I screamed.”
She takes a long breath. “I thought about it over and over. I could have gotten it completely wrong, Liam. It could all be my fault.”
It’s a moment before I notice my fists are clenched tight. I shake my head. “No, butterfly. If you got it wrong, Jack would have understood. If he didn’t sympathize, then you got it right.”
She says, “His big, ugly driver ran into the room to see if everything was okay. Jack snarled at him to get out. Then he glowered at me and he ran away. He avoided me for days.”
I hold her hand.
She looks up, pleading. “I tried to talk to Jack about it. I wanted to tell him it would be okay. It didn’t matter. But he was never the same again after that. It was the next day when he told me, I was only here for Aaron. He would have me and that was all Jack needed me for now. Since then, he treated me more like a servant than a member of the family.”
I tell her to come back to my room tonight. She’s only going to be with me so I can keep her safe.
That’s what I tell myself. And her. She says it again.
“You can do whatever you want with me, Liam. Anything at all.”
She’s a virgin. I’m sure of it.
I want her here with me to protect her. But how will I keep her safe from me?
Jack waits in the den.
I tell him, “Don’t get up.” He offers me a drink, but I ignore him. He sits back. I stand over him.
“I left you to run the drugs business here. Why have you dropped the ball?”
He smiles, “Liam, relax. You’re still getting the regular payments. What difference does it make to you how we do the business?”
Jack has lost his grip on more than just the business. He knows a man could get himself killed talking to me like that.
My eyes narrow. “What’s happened to you, Jack?”
“I told you, Liam. Relax. I’ll get it straightened out if you care so much, though I can’t see why the fuck you do.”
I lean toward him. “It reflects badly on me. On the family. We’ve got a way of doing business. We have a reputation.”
“You care about your reputation with a few junkies?”
He’s so close to the edge now.
“It’s sloppy, Jack.” I don’t know if it’s the angry contempt in my voice or the simple reality check, but he blinks like I threw cold water over him.
“Okay, Liam. Fair enough.” He lifts his hands. “You’ve come all this way. It matters to you and it’s your business. I’ll get a hold of it. We’ll clear this up.”
“And don’t risk getting my fucking turf mixed up in corporate fucking intellectual property law.” He looks baffled. I lay it out. “Stop selling prescription drugs, Jack. Knock-offs or not. Cut that product line.”
I can see in his eyes that this has come totally out of left field. My eyes narrow. “You didn’t know that was happening.”
And now I’ve got the picture.
“You’re trusting my business to Aaron. You’re leaving him in charge of my patch. Aren’t you? Admit it.”
His eyebrows point up. “It’s business, Liam.“ His hands are palms up and his shoulders rise. “I’m just delegating.”
“You’re delegating my reputation to a punk who doesn’t know what he’s doing, Jack. Worse, he’s too arrogant to care. And if you can’t see what’s wrong with this picture, then you’re an even bigger idiot than he is.”
His voice is quiet. He’s red in the face. His eyes flicker down. “I’ve told you I’ll fix it, Liam.” He takes a breath. Ready to add, Don’t worry, but he thinks better of it.
I don’t know how I’m going to get past what he’s done to Tegan. And I wonder if it’s as bad as what I suspect.
Chapter Seven
Tegan
I don’t go back downstairs. Here in his room, I feel safe in the tang of testosterone and the darker man scents. Traces of him. I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of his shirt. The cool, crisp, heavy cotton. Pale sapphire cufflinks that match his eyes.
However much I want to, I won’t go through his things. All I allow myself is to open the wardrobe. Feel the cool cottons and silks of his suits and shirts. His ties. And his heavy belts.
When I imagine the weight of his tread on the stairs, waves of tingling anticipation wash through me. Most likely, he will take one look at me and scowl. Then he’ll shoo me out like a stray cat. But I love his scowl.
And his scents. I recall the hard gleam in his eye, the heat of his solid, muscled trunk. And I remember the pulses in his body. I can recreate all that from memory. But not his scent.
He might spank me again. Or maybe he would take out one of those belts. There’s a wide black one. Old. Soft from wear. But heavy.
If I take it out of the wardrobe, just to feel it, will he be angry with me?
I remember how all the scents around him stirred me. The tang and the strange, manly sweetness. But I can’t call them up. Not like the image of his pants, stretched over his huge swelling. Or the strength in his hand. Striking. Then gripping. Then stroking.
The wide leather is shiny and smooth on the outside. Rough on the inside. Heavy and strong. Like him.
Curled up on the bed, I try not to disturb his sheets and pillows. Liam’s big belt is soft against my cheek. I twitch as I drag it over the soft backs of my thighs. I pull the smooth side over my ass, against the cheek where he spanked me. So hard. That hot sting.
My body remembers his hand. His hard thigh. The contours of his long ridge that I slid back and forth along. He must have known what a filthy mind I have. I’m surprised he didn’t punish me more.
The belt slips between my thighs. Rougher suede on the inside grazes over my swollen lips. Too late, I realize I’m making it wet and slick. Too late because I’m pressing. Pushing. Rocking against it.
Hard, then soft. Soft, and then harder. Faster, then long and slow. Oh, I have to stop.
Soon.
I nip the pointed end of the belt between my teeth. Smell and taste the leather. Wetting it with my mouth frees the scent. I dare to bite a little harder as I squirm, pulling the strap against my drenched, weeping pussy.
My nipples ache and rub, sore inside my bra. I want to take it off, but I’m in too much of a hurry now. I can’t stop.
With my thumb and finger, I pull, through the dress, through the bra, pinching and stretching my buds. Pulling them long and hard.
My scent ignites the smell of the old leather. The two traces, hot, distinct aromas, blend together. My breath is deep and hard. I need to stop, I know I do. But I have to have a little more of the smell. And more of the pressure. More of the buzz that rises like smoke inside me.
Crushing my folds, the leather strap is too wide, too stiff. The sides scratch against the tops of my thighs. The flat part can’t reach my bud. Not properly. Though I roll and scrape as hard as I can against it.
This may be the closest I’ll get to him. But I need to stop. He’ll be angry when he finds out what I’ve done. When he knows how I’ve used his belt for my dirty pleasure.
But I can’t stop. Not now. Soon.
I press the strap harder against me. Hard enough to feel the roughness of it, though my wet panties. I could take them off. Feel the leather properly. Rub it against me.
Now I’m afraid of how much I’ll soak his bed.
And I can’t stop now. Soon. Not yet.
Soon.
Oh, God. Not yet.
On my back. With my knees up. My legs wide apart. Splayed open. On his bed. My bear’s bed. I’m Goldilocks. Little. Afraid. Alone in the woods.
I drag my panties to the side. I never felt so filthy before.
Push the belt harder. Press it tight against my swollen wet wings. My aching bud. The smell of him. And the leather. The heat. The supple hardness.
I wonder if I would dare to slide the pointed tip up, inside me. A hard piece of him. Of my silverback bear.
The buckle jingles cold against my ass. When I move it away, my finger strays to the soft ‘O.’
With the tip of my finger inside, I can reach my thumb into the opening of my pussy, still pushing the leather against my clit. I’m hot. Feverish. Clenching.
I’m meltling in a cascade inside. Too much going on. And it’s all too good.
And the door opens.
How did I not hear him coming? He bounds up the stairs like a racehorse. I can’t believe I missed it.
He definitely heard me coming, though.
When he opened the door, I couldn’t even stop. Not straightaway. Not for a minute. It was too late.
He leaned back to close the door quietly. I snapped into a ball.
I meant to stop. But my ass gripped my finger, my pussy clamped and sucked on my thumb, and my wanton, slutty hand ground his belt against my clit.
Before I could stop, I was cresting three ways. I moaned and rocked on the bed, shaking and clawing, shuddering and straining, imploding and cascading inside, staring, imploring, pleading into his hard, cruel eyes.
I shouted and clawed and clenched and gushed. Guilty, exposed, sinful, and free. It was terrible and mortifying and liberating, all at the same time.
He holds my chin in his hand. I can’t look up at him. But he makes me.
His voice is hard. Flat. “That’s maybe the filthiest thing I ever saw.”