Fighting Attraction
Page 19
“You told me not to move.”
A sensual smile curves his lips, and he crosses the room to the black couch by the wall. “In this room, you do what I tell you to do. You have no control here. You can’t ask, coax, or force me to do anything. You take what I give you, when and how I want to give it. And right now, I want to give you nothing.” He settles on the couch, and flips through a magazine that was lying on the table, leaving me suspended, aroused, and alone.
“Ramp…Master Jack?”
“No talking unless you want to spend the rest of the night like that,” he says without looking up.
Nipples aching, pussy throbbing, I twist in the restraints. My muscles burn, and my shoulders protest my confinement. Frustrated and overwhelmed by the combination of physical pain and unfulfilled desire, I whimper.
Jack doesn’t even look up from his magazine. “I’ve seen your scars. You can take a lot more than that.”
I take in a deep breath and then another, using the tricks I’ve learned to get through the pain of the blade. But unspent arousal is a different beast. It is an ache that spreads through my body, getting worse with every passing minute because every time I move I am reminded that I am half naked and chained to the ceiling and my only source of relief is sitting five feet away.
Seeking a distraction, I glance around the room, but it only serves to worsen the situation. This room is about pain and sex and nothing else. White walls, gray floors, red carpet, black furniture, racks of whips and crops and equipment I can’t understand but all of which I know I want to try. A cold, ultramodern hotel room for the discerning sadist in one’s life.
After an interminable amount of time, Rampage places his magazine on the table and walks toward me. I tremble, trying desperately not to move as he scans me with his hooded gaze.
“How do you feel?”
Not the question I was expecting, and I can hardly tell him I’m desperate to come after insisting this had nothing to do with sex. “Uncomfortable. My muscles are…sore.”
He gives me a half smile. “That’s all?” He stares pointedly at my breasts, my erect nipples, visible through my bra, giving my arousal away.
“That’s all,” I say.
“Perfect.” He reaches for the cuffs, and I look up at him, confused.
“You said we were going to do a scene.”
“We just did.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. “But…this isn’t the kind of hurting I was looking for.”
“But you do hurt.” A statement. Not a question. His fingers glide up my inner thigh, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs that serves only to increase the ache in my pussy.
“Yes, it hurts.”
He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat from his body as his finger stops its upward journey at the edge of my knickers. “Where does it hurt? Tell me.”
My brain does a disconnect. Rampage. Jack. My high-fiving, fist-bumping gym buddy. This dangerously sensual Dom. I open my mouth, and only a whimper comes out.
Without warning, Jack shoves my knickers aside and slicks his finger through my slit. “Does it hurt here?”
Shocked at his unexpected, intimate touch, I jerk against the restraints.
His Southern accent returns, husky and soothing. “Yes, it does. Poor Pen.” He presses his thick finger into my entrance, and I almost choke on the sensation.
“Christ. You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “I would love to fuck you right now. I’d tie you up on my table, spread you out, and fuck you till you scream.”
Electricity sheets across my skin, as I struggle to reconcile this man with the fist-bumping Rampage I know. “This isn’t supposed to be about sex.” I’ve never really enjoyed sex. Never been with a man who was interested in my pleasure. I’ve always been a means for getting someone else off, nothing more.
“But it is.” He pushes two fingers deep inside me. “At least it is for you.”
I groan and he adds a third finger, stretching me to the edge of pain. His thumb circles my clit, and I am caught in a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of need.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Give me every dirty, indecent thought you’ve ever had, every dark craving, every sick fantasy. I can make them all come true.” His voice rumbles, raw and rough, thick with desire. “Give me your pain.”
My hands clench into fists. My head falls back. A low rolling ache builds inside me. I am coiled tight, tight…
He pulls his fingers away.
“No.” I gasp as the sudden loss of sensation cuts through me like a knife.
“We’re done.” He presses his fingers to his mouth and licks his lips. “That’s as close as I will ever get to tasting you.”
“Please.” I am so wound up, so desperate to come, I am not above begging.
“You wanted to hurt,” he says. “That’s as much as I can hurt you. Don’t touch yourself when you go home. No fingers. No vibrators. No men. Don’t get yourself off.” He pinches my nipple, and the throb in my pussy turns to a sharp, fierce ache.
“It hurts.”
“I know it does, darlin’. That’s the point.”
My gaze drops below his belt to the thick erection pressing against his fly. My pain arouses him. At least I know this isn’t easy for him either.
He releases the restraints and rubs my arms to restore the circulation. I tremble beneath his touch, lost in a sea of unmet desire.
“Let’s get you dressed.” He picks up my clothes and helps me dress, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on my blouse. When I’m fully clothed, he clasps my chain around my neck, then twists my hair into a ponytail and wraps the elastic around it with practiced efficiency.
A sensual smile curves his lips, and he crosses the room to the black couch by the wall. “In this room, you do what I tell you to do. You have no control here. You can’t ask, coax, or force me to do anything. You take what I give you, when and how I want to give it. And right now, I want to give you nothing.” He settles on the couch, and flips through a magazine that was lying on the table, leaving me suspended, aroused, and alone.
“Ramp…Master Jack?”
“No talking unless you want to spend the rest of the night like that,” he says without looking up.
Nipples aching, pussy throbbing, I twist in the restraints. My muscles burn, and my shoulders protest my confinement. Frustrated and overwhelmed by the combination of physical pain and unfulfilled desire, I whimper.
Jack doesn’t even look up from his magazine. “I’ve seen your scars. You can take a lot more than that.”
I take in a deep breath and then another, using the tricks I’ve learned to get through the pain of the blade. But unspent arousal is a different beast. It is an ache that spreads through my body, getting worse with every passing minute because every time I move I am reminded that I am half naked and chained to the ceiling and my only source of relief is sitting five feet away.
Seeking a distraction, I glance around the room, but it only serves to worsen the situation. This room is about pain and sex and nothing else. White walls, gray floors, red carpet, black furniture, racks of whips and crops and equipment I can’t understand but all of which I know I want to try. A cold, ultramodern hotel room for the discerning sadist in one’s life.
After an interminable amount of time, Rampage places his magazine on the table and walks toward me. I tremble, trying desperately not to move as he scans me with his hooded gaze.
“How do you feel?”
Not the question I was expecting, and I can hardly tell him I’m desperate to come after insisting this had nothing to do with sex. “Uncomfortable. My muscles are…sore.”
He gives me a half smile. “That’s all?” He stares pointedly at my breasts, my erect nipples, visible through my bra, giving my arousal away.
“That’s all,” I say.
“Perfect.” He reaches for the cuffs, and I look up at him, confused.
“You said we were going to do a scene.”
“We just did.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. “But…this isn’t the kind of hurting I was looking for.”
“But you do hurt.” A statement. Not a question. His fingers glide up my inner thigh, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs that serves only to increase the ache in my pussy.
“Yes, it hurts.”
He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat from his body as his finger stops its upward journey at the edge of my knickers. “Where does it hurt? Tell me.”
My brain does a disconnect. Rampage. Jack. My high-fiving, fist-bumping gym buddy. This dangerously sensual Dom. I open my mouth, and only a whimper comes out.
Without warning, Jack shoves my knickers aside and slicks his finger through my slit. “Does it hurt here?”
Shocked at his unexpected, intimate touch, I jerk against the restraints.
His Southern accent returns, husky and soothing. “Yes, it does. Poor Pen.” He presses his thick finger into my entrance, and I almost choke on the sensation.
“Christ. You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “I would love to fuck you right now. I’d tie you up on my table, spread you out, and fuck you till you scream.”
Electricity sheets across my skin, as I struggle to reconcile this man with the fist-bumping Rampage I know. “This isn’t supposed to be about sex.” I’ve never really enjoyed sex. Never been with a man who was interested in my pleasure. I’ve always been a means for getting someone else off, nothing more.
“But it is.” He pushes two fingers deep inside me. “At least it is for you.”
I groan and he adds a third finger, stretching me to the edge of pain. His thumb circles my clit, and I am caught in a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of need.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Give me every dirty, indecent thought you’ve ever had, every dark craving, every sick fantasy. I can make them all come true.” His voice rumbles, raw and rough, thick with desire. “Give me your pain.”
My hands clench into fists. My head falls back. A low rolling ache builds inside me. I am coiled tight, tight…
He pulls his fingers away.
“No.” I gasp as the sudden loss of sensation cuts through me like a knife.
“We’re done.” He presses his fingers to his mouth and licks his lips. “That’s as close as I will ever get to tasting you.”
“Please.” I am so wound up, so desperate to come, I am not above begging.
“You wanted to hurt,” he says. “That’s as much as I can hurt you. Don’t touch yourself when you go home. No fingers. No vibrators. No men. Don’t get yourself off.” He pinches my nipple, and the throb in my pussy turns to a sharp, fierce ache.
“It hurts.”
“I know it does, darlin’. That’s the point.”
My gaze drops below his belt to the thick erection pressing against his fly. My pain arouses him. At least I know this isn’t easy for him either.
He releases the restraints and rubs my arms to restore the circulation. I tremble beneath his touch, lost in a sea of unmet desire.
“Let’s get you dressed.” He picks up my clothes and helps me dress, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on my blouse. When I’m fully clothed, he clasps my chain around my neck, then twists my hair into a ponytail and wraps the elastic around it with practiced efficiency.
