Against the Ropes
Page 92
My entire body trembles even as a burning flush spreads outward from my bottom. Moisture trickles down my thigh. The nightmare dances at the fringes of my consciousness. Anger and violence. We were always heading in this direction. This is the last step before the end.
No. This is not the same. He cares for me. He loves me. He promised he would never hurt me. “No.”
“Good. Because I’m just getting started.” He strikes again, this time low on my other cheek.
I gasp and try to wiggle free. Max’s hand tightens on my back. “Don’t move or I’ll punish you for that too.” He smoothes a hand over my flaming cheeks and my tension eases. Two smacks. Not so bad.
Smack. Smack. Smack. He alternates cheeks and strike zones. Nowhere is safe. My bottom flames and I press my hips against the metal, trying to find stimulation for the throbbing bundle of nerves between my legs.
“No you don’t.” Max kicks my legs apart and pulls my hips back. “First punishment. Then pleasure.”
He slides his hand between my legs and through my wet folds. “Damn, baby. You’re so wet. I knew this would excite you.” He flicks his finger over my sweet spot and the shock of pleasure makes my knees buckle.
“Not yet. I’m not done with you.” He repositions me on the vehicle and lands two more swats on my flaming skin. “Why are you being punished?”
“Because I scared you?”
“No.” He strikes again, harder this time. “Because you didn’t trust me to protect you. Never again are you going to put yourself in danger. Understood?”
Pain and pleasure flow over my body. My sex quivers. My knees shake. Need coils in my belly so tight I can barely think, much less respond.
SMACK. “Answer me.”
Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell. Another part wants to turn around and make him give me what I want. But the part of me consumed by lust answers, “Yes.”
“Last one,” he rasps. The air whistles and the final smack sends a firestorm racing beneath my skin. I scream out my frustration, my need, and my pain. Max releases me and flips me over. He lifts me and seats my burning bottom on the cool, metal hood.
“You did so well, baby.” He plants a soft kiss on my forehead and I jerk away. I don’t want tenderness. I want release and I want to leave. In that order.
Max shoves his clothing down to his knees. His erection springs free, hot, heavy, and pulsing with need. He rips open a condom packet with his teeth and sheaths himself.
“Open for me.” He spreads my thighs with his firm fingers and grips my hips. “Look at me, Makayla. I want to watch you come.”
My eyes widen at the fierce possessiveness of his gaze.
“Mine,” he rumbles. “Say it.”
Dazed with need, I whimper, “Yours.”
He eases inside me and flicks his thumb over my throbbing bundle of nerves. One slick flick. One long, hard, delicious thrust. I am filled and stretched. I am possessed.
“You feel so good,” he groans as he pounds into me. “So slick and tight.”
Already on the brink, it takes no more than that to set me off. I throw back my head and let loose a guttural scream as my orgasm rips through me, sending white hot bolts of lightning through my veins. My sex clenches and pulses. Max angles in deep and drives into me with quick, hard thrusts. Seconds later, he tenses and shouts his release. The throb and pulse of his climax send me into a new wave of rapture, and I bite down on his shoulder to stifle my moan.
So hard. So fast. So unlike anything we’ve done before. So disconcerting. I have to force myself not to pull away.
We hold each other while the fire dies down. A chill creeps through me, winding its way through my body to my heart until I can no longer bear to be touched. I ease Max away and dress without saying a word.
While he hunts around for his shirt, I wander through the cars until I find an Aston Martin identical to the one I just drove. I slide down until I am sitting on the floor beside the vehicle, my cheek pressed against the cool, metal door, my hands around my knees.
Stones crunch over cement, and Max bends down in front of me. “Makayla? Baby?” The pain and hesitation in his voice tear at my heart, but still I hold up my hand, palm forward to keep him away.
Max sits on the floor across from me, his back against a red Ferrari. I tighten my lips and study his face. His distress is etched into the lines around his eyes, concern in his wrinkled brow. He scrapes his hand through his hair. “Let me hold you.”
I shake my head and close my eyes again. I breathe in the scent of rubber and paint, new leather, and old memories.
“Baby—” His voice cracks and his pain spills between us. My heart aches in response. I am hurting him with my silence. Hurting is not what I do. He told me he trusted me to tell him if there was something he needed to know. There is something he needs to know, and he needs to know it now.
“I used to have nightmares about what happened the night my dad died.” I keep my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the Aston Martin. If not for the rasp of Max’s breathing, I could be alone.
“I was six years old. My dad was an abusive alcoholic. He shouted and swore, and hit my mom when he was really drunk. One day he came home from the bar worse than usual. When we saw he had a baseball bat, Mom told us to run. Susie and I hid in the upstairs closet.”
Max sucks in a breath but doesn’t interrupt.
“We heard shouting and screaming and then a thud,” I continue. “When we crept to the kitchen, Mom was lying on the floor, bleeding from her head. She was moaning, so I knew she was alive, but I didn’t know how to help her. That’s the first time I knew what I wanted to do with my life.”
No. This is not the same. He cares for me. He loves me. He promised he would never hurt me. “No.”
“Good. Because I’m just getting started.” He strikes again, this time low on my other cheek.
I gasp and try to wiggle free. Max’s hand tightens on my back. “Don’t move or I’ll punish you for that too.” He smoothes a hand over my flaming cheeks and my tension eases. Two smacks. Not so bad.
Smack. Smack. Smack. He alternates cheeks and strike zones. Nowhere is safe. My bottom flames and I press my hips against the metal, trying to find stimulation for the throbbing bundle of nerves between my legs.
“No you don’t.” Max kicks my legs apart and pulls my hips back. “First punishment. Then pleasure.”
He slides his hand between my legs and through my wet folds. “Damn, baby. You’re so wet. I knew this would excite you.” He flicks his finger over my sweet spot and the shock of pleasure makes my knees buckle.
“Not yet. I’m not done with you.” He repositions me on the vehicle and lands two more swats on my flaming skin. “Why are you being punished?”
“Because I scared you?”
“No.” He strikes again, harder this time. “Because you didn’t trust me to protect you. Never again are you going to put yourself in danger. Understood?”
Pain and pleasure flow over my body. My sex quivers. My knees shake. Need coils in my belly so tight I can barely think, much less respond.
SMACK. “Answer me.”
Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell. Another part wants to turn around and make him give me what I want. But the part of me consumed by lust answers, “Yes.”
“Last one,” he rasps. The air whistles and the final smack sends a firestorm racing beneath my skin. I scream out my frustration, my need, and my pain. Max releases me and flips me over. He lifts me and seats my burning bottom on the cool, metal hood.
“You did so well, baby.” He plants a soft kiss on my forehead and I jerk away. I don’t want tenderness. I want release and I want to leave. In that order.
Max shoves his clothing down to his knees. His erection springs free, hot, heavy, and pulsing with need. He rips open a condom packet with his teeth and sheaths himself.
“Open for me.” He spreads my thighs with his firm fingers and grips my hips. “Look at me, Makayla. I want to watch you come.”
My eyes widen at the fierce possessiveness of his gaze.
“Mine,” he rumbles. “Say it.”
Dazed with need, I whimper, “Yours.”
He eases inside me and flicks his thumb over my throbbing bundle of nerves. One slick flick. One long, hard, delicious thrust. I am filled and stretched. I am possessed.
“You feel so good,” he groans as he pounds into me. “So slick and tight.”
Already on the brink, it takes no more than that to set me off. I throw back my head and let loose a guttural scream as my orgasm rips through me, sending white hot bolts of lightning through my veins. My sex clenches and pulses. Max angles in deep and drives into me with quick, hard thrusts. Seconds later, he tenses and shouts his release. The throb and pulse of his climax send me into a new wave of rapture, and I bite down on his shoulder to stifle my moan.
So hard. So fast. So unlike anything we’ve done before. So disconcerting. I have to force myself not to pull away.
We hold each other while the fire dies down. A chill creeps through me, winding its way through my body to my heart until I can no longer bear to be touched. I ease Max away and dress without saying a word.
While he hunts around for his shirt, I wander through the cars until I find an Aston Martin identical to the one I just drove. I slide down until I am sitting on the floor beside the vehicle, my cheek pressed against the cool, metal door, my hands around my knees.
Stones crunch over cement, and Max bends down in front of me. “Makayla? Baby?” The pain and hesitation in his voice tear at my heart, but still I hold up my hand, palm forward to keep him away.
Max sits on the floor across from me, his back against a red Ferrari. I tighten my lips and study his face. His distress is etched into the lines around his eyes, concern in his wrinkled brow. He scrapes his hand through his hair. “Let me hold you.”
I shake my head and close my eyes again. I breathe in the scent of rubber and paint, new leather, and old memories.
“Baby—” His voice cracks and his pain spills between us. My heart aches in response. I am hurting him with my silence. Hurting is not what I do. He told me he trusted me to tell him if there was something he needed to know. There is something he needs to know, and he needs to know it now.
“I used to have nightmares about what happened the night my dad died.” I keep my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the Aston Martin. If not for the rasp of Max’s breathing, I could be alone.
“I was six years old. My dad was an abusive alcoholic. He shouted and swore, and hit my mom when he was really drunk. One day he came home from the bar worse than usual. When we saw he had a baseball bat, Mom told us to run. Susie and I hid in the upstairs closet.”
Max sucks in a breath but doesn’t interrupt.
“We heard shouting and screaming and then a thud,” I continue. “When we crept to the kitchen, Mom was lying on the floor, bleeding from her head. She was moaning, so I knew she was alive, but I didn’t know how to help her. That’s the first time I knew what I wanted to do with my life.”
