by Karina Halle
The door clicked shut behind me. Locked.
“Where am I?” I asked as he led me across the room. The floor here was tiled but I nearly tripped over a rug. His grip on my arm kept me upright. I expected him to remove the blindfold by now, but he didn’t.
“We’re in my room,” he said. His hands went around my waist, and he picked me up and placed me back down so I was sitting on something lavishly soft, like a fluffy cloud.
His room.
His bed.
My pulse began to quicken.
“Don’t look so scared,” he said. “My room is a very good place to be.” He leaned over me and I felt his hands go to the blindfold. I thought he was about to untie it, but his hand slipped down to the back of my neck and he gripped me there.
“I have been dreaming about you in my room,” he murmured, his grip massaging my neck. “About what I would do to you if I ever got you here. And here you are.”
I had expected to be brought to my own quarters, to be left alone or brought some food. I hadn’t expected this. This was taking me completely off-guard, and the handcuffs and blindfold weren’t helping at all.
“And what is that?” I somehow managed to get out, though the words felt lodged in my throat.
“Do you want me to tell you,” he said, pulling down the front of my dress so my breasts were exposed, my nipples tightening from the air, “or would you rather I show you?”
“I’d rather you tell me,” I said warily, even as his lips so softly grazed the tips of my nipples, causing a flood of need spread through me. Now I knew for sure what cards were on the table.
“And I’d rather I show you,” he said. Suddenly he was pushing me down on the bed and flipping me over so that I was on my stomach. In one quick motion he pulled my ass up in the air and flipped my dress over my hips. “This has to come off.” He pulled my underwear over my cheeks and down my legs, taking his time.
This position felt awfully familiar. “You’re going to come all over me,” I said.
“No,” was his response. I tensed as I felt a hand skim between my legs, sliding up toward where I was becoming increasingly wet and hot. “I’m going to fuck your cunt with my fingers and your ass with my tongue.”
It took me a full moment for what he said to register. Then it hit me like a brick.
“What?” I gasped, utterly shocked.
He put one hand on my ass cheek and began to knead it with his fingers. “I’ve been staring at your perky, firm, heart-shaped ass for too long. I want you to clench around me as you come, I want to experience you from the inside out.” He paused long enough to kiss me, slowly, on both cheeks, while one of his fingers slipped inside my opening, his thumb on my clit.
“And what if I say no?” I asked. I swallowed, trying to gather up the desire to say it. But it wasn’t there.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted breathlessly. He hit a sweet spot that made my back arch, my eyes clench shut, my body want more of it, so much more. I was surprised at how fast it was betraying me, like an addict after a fix.
“Let me rephrase that,” he said. He plunged his finger in further, causing me to release a moan. “Don’t you trust that I can make you feel better than I did last night?” He rubbed at me harder, increasing the pressure, making me swell. “Don’t you trust that I can make you come so hard, you won’t be able to stop yourself from screaming my name?” His tongue teased the top of my crack. “Don’t you trust that I can give you things you’ve only dreamed of?”
I did trust that.
“Well?” he asked.
I nodded my response.
He stopped what he was doing. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I said quickly, eager for him to continue. “I trust you.”
“Good,” he said soothingly, kneading my skin again.
“Isn’t it…” I started, then decided it was too embarrassing to say.
“What?” he asked, his voice rough and low now, like sandpaper.
I bit my lip as the pressure continued to build inside me. How do I say this?
“You’re a very dirty man.”
“Filthy,” he corrected me. He smacked my ass lightly, causing me to jump. “Oh, that’s just fucking beautiful.”
He did it again and again, not enough to hurt but enough to sting. Each time, he licked the place where his handprint would have been. Then, with one hand he gently pried my ass cheeks open. I couldn’t help but cringe.
“You need to relax,” he whispered. “This won’t hurt. And I’m sure you took a bath this morning, didn’t you?” I murmured yes in response. “Then you’re clean and you have nothing to worry about. As for me, I’d take you anyway I can. It’s all exquisite to me.”
He was right. He was filthy.
“Relax, Luisa,” he said again. “Relax.”
And so I tried.
The first contact from his tongue made me shudder. The sensation was so entirely new to me, but what wasn’t at this point? Yet his mouth, lips, tongue, were all warm and wet and gentle, and I found my body immediately relaxing into the steady motion. I pushed aside all thoughts about how unpure this was. Purity had done nothing for me anyway. It was better to be dirty. It was better to take what you could. It was better to embrace your lustful, needful, animalistic side because that was the side that lived.
I let those languid thoughts roll through me until they were replaced with deep-seated desire. His tongue became more forceful, entering me with an in-and-out motion that matched up with the same rhythm as his thrusting fingers. He was completely fucking me in every way and I was letting him more and more, my body opening up, craving him.
“Oh, god,” he said, pulling away slightly. I could feel a trickle of saliva roll down my crack. “You feel like velvet. You taste like sweet cream.”
Then his tongue returned again, making my body shiver and rock from the sensations that were blurring my mind and shocking my senses.
At the sound of his fly unzipping and him moaning into my ass, I knew he had started to pleasure himself while pleasuring me. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to do it for him. I was surprised at my desire—after what I’d been put through, I’d never wanted a cock near me or my mouth. But now I wanted him. I wanted to see him naked, see his cock, see what he looked like, wrap my fingers, lips, tongue around him and give him the same kind of ecstasy he was giving me.
But there was no time for that because he was just as skilled as he was relentless. His mouth and fingers brought me to the edge of a frenzy, the pressure building inside me from so many different sources that it had to give. My arousal splintered, rocketing through my body in hard, violent waves. I cried out, yelling Javier’s name, my hands curling into fists behind my back, pulling against the cuffs.
He came too, loud, angry sounding grunts, but I was so far gone I barely heard him. I was swept away on that ship of emotions again, keeping pace with my body that was still spasming into his mouth and hand. I was so overwhelmed by everything rushing to the surface that I found myself sobbing quietly into the bed as the world ebbed and flowed around me.
There was a long pause, then his zipper went back up.
He placed his hand gently on the small of my back. “Luisa,” he said, his voice throaty but touched with concern, “are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No,” I mumbled into the soft bedspread. “I’m fine.”
The truth was, I didn’t know if I was fine or not. I didn’t know anything except I had experienced something so achingly familiar it brought my head back to a moment in my life. What I felt just then was the same thing I used to feel when I drove to work in Cabo San Lucas, when the sea air flew in through my open window and I felt I was more than my reality, as if I were an element like the sun and water. Something simple and whole and everlasting.
I just never imagined that something like sex—or whatever just happened—could make me feel that way. It made me feel like
a fucking queen. A rush of anger went through me as I cursed Salvador for nearly ruining me, for tricking me into thinking pleasure was one-sided, that sex was such a horrid, disgusting, cruel act. I could have died with that in my heart, never knowing the truth.
Javier’s hands were at my wrists now and I heard him undo the cuffs, carefully taking them off. My arms burned in pain as I tried to bring them forward, and he gently eased me over onto my back, running his hands down my arms calmingly before removing the blindfold from my eyes.
I blinked rapidly at the intrusion of light, my eyelashes wet from the weak tears. I looked up at Javier’s face as he leaned over me, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, his eyes glazed. He smiled shyly and put his hand on my cheek. “My darling. You’re going to be my undoing.”
Javier
She looked so soft and delicate beneath me that I had meant what I said. Her beauty, her very essence, the way she cried out my name as she came around me, they were starting to fray my ends. It was only in that very moment that it didn’t frighten me because my own completion was still rippling through my body. If only my cartel could figure out how to export this kind of high.
Granted, I’d much rather have made her come first then thrust myself inside her. My hand was getting a bit tiresome, and I knew how velvety soft and slick she’d feel around my dick. I wanted to shoot my semen high inside her and then watch it all run out between her legs and onto the sheets. She needed to be stained on the inside.
But that wasn’t an option. If I fucked her, if I even kissed her, I would lose control of everything I kept chained together. It had happened years and years ago—with Ellie—and I wouldn’t, couldn’t, let it happen again. I had paid too dearly a price.
Still, the wetness around her eyes, the pretty way her mouth parted as she stared at me, was making it hard, in more ways than one. Even earlier, when she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, the smell of her hair intoxicating me, I didn’t have the courage to make her move. I enjoyed every second of the ride home.
And now, she was here. In my home. Everyone said it was a mistake to bring her here, but I didn’t care in the slightest. Their opinions had become so tiresome and predictable. The fact was, she would be safest here. This was my throne. This was where I held all the power and all the control.
It would be nice to have a queen, even if just for a week.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I stared down at her in confusion, tucking a few strands of sex-mussed hair behind her ear. “Why?”
“For doubting you.”
I smiled. “Most women do doubt … that. But if they’re brave enough to be open-minded and own their sexual curiosities, they are greatly rewarded.”
Her forehead furrowed slightly and I realized that alluding to other women probably wasn’t something she wanted to hear. Oh well, I wasn’t going to pretend I hadn’t fucked a million women.
I cleared my throat. “Do you want to take a bath or something? I have a large Jacuzzi. I have a lot of things here you may enjoy.”
She shook her head. “Am I sleeping here?”
I slowly sat up, distancing myself from her a bit. “No. You have your own room. Down the hall. I can assure you it is much nicer than the shithole you were in before.”
She smiled weakly and I helped her into a sitting position. She tugged on her dress, covering up her perfect breasts. “The other place wasn’t so bad…”
“Perhaps not to you,” I said. “You’ve only known luxury a short while.”
She tilted her head and looked me closer in the eye.
“What?” I asked, alluding to her intrusive gaze.
“Tell me about your sisters,” she said. “The ones who are alive.”
My face must have fallen because she looked ashamed and quickly said, “I’m sorry. That sounded callous. I meant, tell me about Alana and Marguerite.”
I bristled. It wasn’t exactly a favorite subject. I wondered why she was digging around. Was she trying to get information to use against me down the line, to hurt the rest of my family? My paranoia still fit me like a glove.
It was a glove that had kept me alive.
“I’m just curious,” she said softly, looking away. “Never mind.”
“It’s fine,” I said, smoothing on my mask. The last thing I wanted was for her to know what affected me. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Where do they live, what do they do, what are they like?”
“Well, they are both very pretty. Twins, you see. Which also makes them major pains in the ass. In the past, we weren’t so close, but after Violetta … we became closer. I try and talk to them every month or so. I offer to send them money but they rarely accept it.” I shrugged. “It’s a good thing, I guess. Alana is a flight attendant in Puerto Vallarta. Marguerite is in New York City.”
“Wow.”
“I suppose,” I said, absently running my hand over the bedding. “It seems so cliché to me, to go live in that city. She fell in love with some filmmaker and I guess he treats her well. I don’t know. She comes to visit Alana once in a while, but I am not sure if they are even close anymore.”
“Do you love them?”
I shot her a sharp look. “Of course I do. Why would you ask that?”
She didn’t say anything. I took the opportunity to turn the tables on her.
“Tell me about your parents.”
She gave me a wry smile. “Oh, I see how this works.”
“Give and take,” I said matter-of-factly. “You should know this by now.”
She nodded and her face crumpled a bit as she opened up. “My parents are lovely, loving people. Even though we grew up with nothing, they gave me everything they could. I wasn’t an unhappy child. You’re not unhappy when you have unconditional love. They made sure I had every opportunity that was available to me, and even though I knew how the other half lived, I didn’t want for much. Then,” she closed her eyes, “then my father started acting differently. My mother, she’s blind, you see, and my father was always able to work enough to support us all, even though I helped out when I could. But now he was forgetting things, slipping into trances. One day I forced him to a doctor and they told us he was developing Alzheimer’s.” She took a deep breath and turned slightly away from me. “It set in pretty fast. He is—or he was—getting worse by the day. I had plans for university, you know. I was hoping that the money from the pageant I had won and maybe a scholarship would get me to school. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t be that selfish.”
I shook my head vigorously, hating her selflessness. “Oh, but you should be, my darling.”
“But I’m not,” she said sharply. “So I forgot about that and decided to get a full-time job. I was lucky enough to work at Cabo Cocktails for three years. I was able to keep my job with a bit of … luck.” A flash of disgust came across her face then vanished. “I took care of my family. I paid for everything. I did everything I could for them, just so they could be happy. I think I made them happy. I pray I made them proud.”
I could feel the sadness leaking out from her heart. I couldn’t help but be tainted by it.
“And how was your job?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It was a job.”
“Was your boss nice?” I asked because I knew the types of men who ran those kinds of places, who hired women who looked as gorgeous as she did.
She pressed her lips together. “Bruno taught me that men were wicked and unkind.”
I swallowed a pit of hate. “Did he rape you?”
She shook her head. “No. He didn’t. But … he did other things. Not just to me, most of the other girls were … subjected to his advances. But he did seem to have a special fondness for me. I don’t know why. Perhaps because he figured I was a virgin.”
My blood started pumping hot, my face prickling with heat. “I’m going to bring you his head one day,” I told her with one hundred percent conviction.
She gave me a wry look. “It�
��s in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the strain build up. “It matters. It all matters. Jesus. Luisa, your life has not been fair. Doesn’t that anger you?”
“No,” she said earnestly. “What’s the point of yelling at the sky, it’s not fair, it’s not fair? It doesn’t change anything.”
She didn’t seem to understand the power her rage could give her. “But if you get angry enough, it could change everything.” Our eyes held each other. “I think I’d like you if you were angry. Very angry.”
“Would you like me to start with you?”
I bit my lip, wanting her to unleash on me. It would be gorgeous. “Yes.”
She smiled stiffly. “Maybe some other time.” She got off the bed, rubbing her arms up and down. I couldn’t tell if she was cold or she was bringing life into her tired muscles.
“It’s been a long day,” I said, feeling strangely awkward. I got up too and adjusted my suit before gesturing to the door. “I’ll take you to your room.”
She complied and we didn’t say a word to each other as I took her by the arm and down the hall. Her eyes took in the photography of world landscapes that I had adorning the walls in gilded frames, noted the various closed doors that all led to guest and employee rooms.
Finally we came to her room, and I led her inside, flicking on the lights. It wasn’t exceedingly large, but it had a lovely en suite bathroom with a claw-foot tub and brass fixtures, walls with moldings, and a large four-poster bed, much like mine. An antique desk and chair were placed in front of the bay windows that overlooked the pool and hot tub in the gardens of the backyard. She’d be more impressed when the morning came and she saw the beauty around her more clearly.
I let her go and nodded to her clothes that were already hanging in her closet. I had called ahead and gotten the gardener, Carlos, to go out and fetch her some brand new ones as well, items that were properly fitted to her body. The man sure sounded embarrassed when I gave him his orders—I’d made him buy undergarments as well.
“If you need anything,” I said, walking toward the door, “the phone by your bed is a direct line to my room.”