Break Me Down (9 page)

“Touch yourself for me.” She kept her voice firm but cajoling. “I want to see how hard that pretty cock can get.”

Gibson’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he put his hand around his erection. He rubbed his thumb over the tip, drawing a bit of fluid there, and then stroked down his length. The sight was fucking gorgeous, even in the dim light the moon was offering. That big hand around his thick erection, the skin flushed and tight.

This guy was all man—beautiful, wonderful, sexy maleness.

Her focus slid to what she’d pressed on the dashboard. Gibson had closed his eyes, getting lost to the slow strokes of his hand, so he didn’t see what she grabbed. But when she had it solidly in her hand, she flicked his thigh with her other hand.

Gibson’s eyes popped open. She raised the round, red-hot cigarette lighter in her hand. “What’s this doing in here? Haven’t seen one of these in years.”

Gibson eyed the device, instinctively leaning back a little, his stroking hand going still. “Got it with the car because I used to smoke. Quit a few years ago.”

“Good. Nasty habit. But . . . convenient device.”

The spirals in the lighter glowed bright red and Gib’s gaze seemed transfixed on it. “What are you doing, Sam?”

“I’ve heard branding someone’s skin can be very erotic.” She let her eyes go down to his spread thighs. “And someone like you who loves the pain so much . . . well, I bet you’d like it. But maybe we should just burn a little hair off first, test it out.”

He shifted back against the seat. “What? Sam—”

She reached down and cupped his balls, rubbing her thumb along the tender skin there. He groaned at her touch, but his hand curled tight against his thigh.

“Hmm . . . pleasure mixed with pain can be so potent.” She brought the lighter downward.

“Fuck, Sam. What are you—”

She got the lighter close enough to make a hair on his inner thigh sizzle.

“Jesus Christ.” He shoved her hand away. “Red! Fuck!
Red!
”

She immediately shifted back to her side and tucked the lighter into the base, smiling.

When she looked back at Gibson, his eyes were wide, accusing. “What the hell was that?”

She leaned over and brushed her mouth over his. “Thank you. Now I can trust you to use that word. We all have limits, Gib. That’s not weakness. It’s smart.”

“Christ.” He blew out a tense breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Would you have used the fucking thing if I hadn’t safe worded?”

“Yes.” She said it with total confidence, even though she wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to go through with it. She was beginning to understand, to see those subtle hints he was throwing off. She’d scared him. He didn’t want to be burned,
but his erection hadn’t flagged. The danger fed him. The question of
will she/won’t she
had amped up his arousal.

He shook his head and swiped a hand over his face. “You’re a little crazy, Sam.”

She smiled syrupy sweet and brought out Dolly as she patted his cheek. “You’re just figuring this out, dumplin’?”

He laughed, though there was a sharp edge to it. Nerves. Wariness. “Oh, shit, the country twang of death. Now I’m worried.”

“You’re in good hands, sugar. I promise.”

“Uh-huh.” He licked his lips. “So if we all have limits, what are yours?”

She shrugged, dropping the country act. “Boys who lie. Boys who cheat.”

He frowned.

Boys who keep me a secret.

She shoved aside that last thought. “And I don’t play with people who I can’t trust to safe word. Glad we got past that. So, are you ready to pay me back for your bad behavior tonight?”

The playful mood from a minute before had fallen away. Gibson’s expression had gone serious by the time he gave a little nod. “Yes, mistress.”

“Good.” She patted his chest. “Then go inside like a good boy and make sure the dogs are watered and fed. When that’s done, go upstairs and shower off that police station smell. Once I hear the shower turn off, I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I come up to join you. When I walk in, I want you naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed, back to the door, head down.”

He listened to every word like a soldier receiving his marching orders. Then when she was done, he reached out and cupped the back of her head, his gaze heavy on her. “Before I go in, I just want to tell you I really am sorry for tonight, Sam. I’m sorry I’m . . . like this and that I can’t give you what you’re looking for. But I promise I’ll do everything I can tonight to make this good for you.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undid her. He really had no idea, no idea how much he got to her, how seeing him hurt knotted her up inside. But beyond that, she also heard the yearning ache in his words.
I’m sorry I’m like this
was what he’d said.
I don’t want to be
is what she heard.

She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. “No more apologies tonight, okay? For the rest of the night, it’s just you and me. No past. No future. Just right now. And right now, you’re mine. Let all the rest go. All you need to worry about is saying,
Yes, mistress
, and doing what I say and feeling what you feel. Think you can do that?”

He inhaled a deep breath, his hand gripping the back of her head like a lifeline. “Yes, mistress.”

“Good.” She lifted her head and smiled. “Let’s do this, Andrews.”

Gibson should’ve ended this. That would be the right thing to do. Tonight had proven how easily he could fuck this up, how easily he could hurt Sam. He’d agreed to be her sub this week but then had shamed her in public, acted embarrassed to be with her in that way. The girl had gone through her life with families turning her away and then he’d done the same to her, separating himself from her, like he was above it all—above her. A cardinal fucking sin in his book.

Then there’d been that haunted look in her eye when she’d talked about being someone’s secret. A foster brother. It made his stomach turn to think what she might’ve been through. Someone had already hurt her, and he was poking at that wound with his own stupid insecurities. He didn’t deserve to be here. He didn’t deserve her.

But when Sam had declared with that trademark attitude that she was holding him to his weeklong agreement, he hadn’t been able to say no. Knowing she’d gone out and bought toys to use on him only amped things up higher—anxiety twining with bone-deep desire. He’d only played the pain game with women. Never had he left his mind or his body open to any more than that. He wasn’t sure he was capable. But that little piece at the very heart of him wanted to prove to Sam that when he said he had no limits with her, he meant it. He couldn’t give her what she most wanted, couldn’t be the kind of sub she could have by her side at the Ranch, but maybe he could at least give her this. His body was hers to use however she wanted tonight.

He wouldn’t call that safe word again. Sam had been mad that he was so adamant about not using one and about having only one hard limit. But what he couldn’t admit to her was that this was a first for him. He never called his safe word, but that’s because he’d always had very clear hard limits. He had a long-ass list of them that he’d give the paid dommes at the Ranch. He gave them leave only to beat the hell out of him. Nothing else.

But with Sam, he didn’t want that restriction. He craved the edge from her because it was underpinned with trust. He wanted to give her absolutely anything she wanted from him. That’s where his darkest fantasies drifted to when he didn’t hold back—no safe words, no outs, that sense that it was almost against his will.
Force.
Without those things in place, he couldn’t use them as a crutch. He had to go in all or nothing. Base jump into the abyss.

He wanted that with Sam tonight.

So after he toweled off from his shower and replaced the small bandage on his head, he tried to put himself in that game-day mind-set. He would not break. She could do what she wanted to him and he would handle it. Then he would make her come as many times as she’d let him as amends for being a jackass today. He only got to be with her for a week, so he was going to make it count.

He checked the time, dropped his towel, and walked to the end of the bed to kneel down. Just the feel of the hard floor beneath his kneecaps and the supplicant position had his dick taking notice.
Here we go.
He lowered his head and waited.

Time ticked by for what seemed like an eternity, but when he snuck a peek at the clock, it showed only seven minutes
had passed. Torture. Finally, the soft click of the door opening sounded behind him. He pulled in a steadying breath.

“Oh, my.” Heels tapped on the hardwoods, slow and steady, and he had to force himself not to look behind him to see her. “Aren’t you a sight?”

He rubbed his lips together, anticipation a living beast huffing hot breaths inside him.

Hands touched his shoulders, making him startle after holding still for those long minutes. Sam leaned her weight on him as she peered down his body. “And already hard and straining, huh? Gonna be a long night, sugar.”

He smiled at her accent. When Sam’s Southern came out, that meant she was in evil-bitch mode. He loved that. Loved that sharp edge. “I’m patient, mistress.”

“Mmm, I bet you are.” She ran her nails over his shoulders, scouring his skin and raising goose bumps. “And I’m so glad my Ranch bag was still in my car. It’s as if the universe knew you were due a good, hard beating.”

“I’ve done lots of bad things, mistress.”

“Yes, you have. And I didn’t give you permission to talk. Put your hands behind your back. Seeing them cuff you earlier made me jealous.”

His mouth quirked up and he put his wrists at the small of his back. Sam’s nimble fingers grasped him and wrapped leather cuffs around his wrists. She hooked them together, leaving no give. He flexed his fingers, his heartbeat ticking up another notch.

The heels or boots or whatever she’d changed into were loud as she took a slow, measured walk behind him. She sized him up. Back and forth. Back and forth. The steady sound was almost hypnotic until it was broken by a rough scraping sound. She shoved a short bench in front of him. It looked to be something she’d made herself. A rustic wood slab that had been varnished but otherwise kept natural with its pits and wormholes and steel pipe legs attached. She turned it perpendicular to him and then clamped a hand on his neck, squeezing hard. “Bend down, rest your chest on it, and spread your knees wider. I want to see all of you.”

It was a crude version of a spanking bench. He’d been on one before, but never nude. That’d been a hard limit in his sessions. The pain aroused him, but he always fought his body’s reaction. That was part of the game for him, proof that he was stronger than his instincts. And that little layer of protection with his boxers had given him comfort. If he failed, it wouldn’t be so obvious. But as the wood pressed into his chest when he draped himself across it, he knew there was no hiding from Sam this time. His cock was hard and heavy between his thighs.

“Look how shy you are. Sweet.” Sam tapped his knee with the side of what felt like a boot, firm and quick. “But not what I want. Spread, Gib.”

He adjusted his knees on the floor, closing his eyes as cool air kissed his most private areas. God, what must he look like? This was the image those guys in the store had probably been imagining. Him bent over and begging for it.

That bitter shame moved through him, but he fought it back. He was here for Sam. If this pleased her, he’d do it. He could let her see him this way. These secrets were safe with her. And despite the twist in his gut, he couldn’t deny the heat
that surged downward, shame a double-edged sword for him.

“Very nice.” Sam’s voice was soothing as she ran a hand down his right flank then grabbed his ankle. “Now hold still.”

His lips parted, ready to ask what she was doing, but then he clamped them shut. He would try to be good. Sam wrapped cuffs around his ankles and checked the tightness. When he tried to adjust his legs, he couldn’t. Not just cuffs—a spreader bar. His ankles were now locked into a device that wouldn’t allow him to bring his legs together.

Nerves bubbled through his blood. He was in position for a beating. That he’d been expecting. But he was also in a convenient position for something else. Something he’d never done before with anyone. He’d known it was a possibility when he’d seen what Sam had in her basket, but now the thought of it actually happening made his muscles tense, his fight or flight simmering to the surface.

Sam laughed from behind him, the sound breezy and melodious, the devious witch offering Snow White an apple. “Oh, honey, don’t panic yet. We’re just getting started.” She trailed her finger down his crease, brushing ever so lightly over his hole and making him clench harder. “But I will say, you do look mighty tempting right now. As pretty as a picture.”

“Been trolling porn sites again, mistress?” he asked, trying for levity but failing when his voice came out like taut wire.

“Always. Gotta get ideas somewhere, right?” She gripped his ass cheek in her hand, digging her nails into his flesh and sending a bolt of need straight to his cock. “But tonight, I was thinking of making my own.”

The little bite of pain was like sweet elixir in his blood, but her words brought his attention back into focus. “What?”

Sam stepped around him, moving into his line of sight. His gaze first landed on the knee-high lace-up leather boots and then traveled upward. All of the air in his lungs evaporated. Sam wasn’t in the corset he’d seen her in the other night. That would’ve been enough to set fireworks off in his head. But instead she was wearing a white button-down shirt—
his
white shirt. And the cotton was thin enough for him to see the rosy hint of her nipples and the shadow between her legs. She was wearing nothing beneath. He groaned.

She smirked, pleased. Only then did he see what was in her hand. Her phone. She squatted down next to him, the tails of his shirt falling between her thighs and blocking the gorgeous view he knew to be underneath. Sam spread and open. Was she wet already? Did seeing him like this turn her on?

She stroked her hands through his hair, petting him. “I said, I was thinking of making my own porn. If I only get you for a week, I want to preserve the memory.”

The phone became a looming specter in her hand. He wet his lips. “You don’t mean . . .”

She lifted a brow. “Oh, yes, I most certainly do. The lighting in here isn’t the best, but it’ll do.”

She gave his hair a little tug before releasing it and standing, giving him a flash of the bottom curve of her ass as she turned around. She rearranged a few things on the antique dresser and set her phone against it. Reality smacked him in the face. She was going to record him? Like this? A big wave of
oh, fuck no
went through him. “Sam, you can’t. I look—If someone saw—”

His words wouldn’t fall together.

She peered at him over her shoulder, mild disinterest on her face. “Did you say something, pet?”

“You can’t record this.”

Her brow arched. “I can do whatever I want. And right now, I want to commemorate how sexy you look and how hot you’re going to be when you beg for me, come for me.”

He closed his eyes, abject fear of exposure twining with that other part of him, the part that liked a dose of humiliation in his fantasies. “Sam . . .”

“You know what color cherries are. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”

Red.
His mind whispered it. She was reminding him of his safe word, giving him an out. But if he said it, this would stop. He’d have chickened out before they’d even started. He’d have failed her and himself. But what if she recorded him and the video somehow got out? There were phones involved and the mysterious cloud and what if she hit the wrong button and it went into the ether? He was spiraling, panic whirling up and taking over. His ears buzzed.

So he didn’t hear her move, didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t know she’d returned to the spot behind him until he felt the sharp, blinding slash of pain across the back of his thighs.

“Fuck!” His eyes snapped open. Another hit came right below the last and his body reared up, everything going on alert. Wires crossing. Pain. Arousal. Confusion. Fire. So much fire.

“Pay attention, Gib. I don’t like it when you don’t answer me.” Another hit came, another blazing line.
A cane.

She was using a cane. His sweet, pretty mistress had gone straight to one of the most brutal tools in the arsenal. He gasped when she slapped her hand over the stripes she’d put on him. Swift, hard slaps. Ones that made the pain flare even hotter.

Fuck.
Fuuuuuck.

Blood roared in his ears and his arms flexed against his back. His skin ignited, agony spiraling. But the panic he’d been drowning in was a distant call in the back of his head.
“Mistress
.
”

“Oh, look who’s back with me.” Her voice had a hardness to it, one that went straight through him, made his cock ache. “Remember the color of cherries yet?”

When he didn’t answer, she flicked the cane against his ass, right over his exposed hole, and his eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

He wet his dry lips, panting. The pain was buzzing through him, adrenaline showing up to the party, making everything bright and tingly. The reality of the situation played at the edge of his mind, but things were getting blurred in the rush of endorphins. He fought to hold on to the threads of his thoughts. She wanted to record him. Wanted to expose him in front of the camera. It would only be for her. She would respect his hard limit. The fear was still there, but the pain dulled it, made him want more, made him want to give in to her. “I don’t like cherries, mistress.”

“Excellent.” Her hand reached between his spread legs, cupping his balls and massaging the heel of her hand over his perineum, braiding pleasure in with the pain still pulsing over his skin. “That pleases me, pet. I’m going to film you. Then
one day when I’m all alone, I’ll watch you like this and touch myself. I’ll come thinking of you spread for me, ass covered in my cane’s stripes, cock leaking onto the floor.”

He groaned and pressed his cheek hard into the wood, silently begging her to stroke him, to offer some relief. He was never going to last for any kind of extended scene. It’d been so long since he’d felt real pain that his arousal had gone from zero to two million. And imagining Sam fucking her fingers while watching a video of him only made it worse.

Without meaning to, he rocked his hips, trying to encourage her grip. But she didn’t let him get away with it. She tugged his scrotum and gave a little twist. The sharp jolt made his toes curl but did nothing to alleviate his throbbing erection. “You trying to come, Gib? Trying to get me to jerk you off before I’m ready?”

His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand. “No, mistress.”

“You gonna last for me?”

“Yes, mistress.” If it fucking killed him, he would last.

“Hmm.” She released him. “Not sure if I believe that.” She got up and strolled over to the phone, putting him on guard again. She pressed the button and he heard the telltale sound of a recording starting. “Smile for the camera, love.”

His heart crawled up his throat.

“Look how pretty he is, everyone,” Sam said, her eyes on his. “When he sweats, those waves in his hair turn to curls, curls that make a girl want to rub herself on him.” She walked around him as if examining cattle. “And that body. Wow. Ladies, you can bounce quarters off that belly. And this ass.” She grabbed him right over the stinging part. “I just want to bite it, leave him bruised.”