Breaking Leila (39 page)

Joseph walked
his fingers down and spread a palm across my stomach.

“This, here,”
he whispered. “Do you know how many women I’ve painted right across
the belly?”

Beneath the
silk blindfold and the fog of thrill, I conjured the image of him
coming over me and Isobel, the thick, wet splash of it and the warm
smell. “Not enough.”

He laughed
again. “Good girl.” The knife twisted, brushing me, and the point
began to sail down. “Never carved one, though.”

“Don’t!”

“Not like that, baby. Like
 
this
.” He laid a little of the knife against me and then I felt a
graze, a heat permeating down, down, met by a warm sting. I cried
out, though the shock was greater than the pain–it was just
scratching, after all. Right? I had to stay still, be a good little
canvas–what if he slipped?

The blade
dragged over my skin in a strangely familiar pattern. Blood and
goosebumps rushed up to follow, and the two cavorted like warring
magnets. Between the sweet sting and the sour scrape, I swore he
split me from the inside out. Left me open. Unstitched.

Finished,
briefly satisfied, he sat back against my thighs and sighed.
“Beautiful.”

“Am…am I
bleeding?” I shuddered at the unexpected note of hope in my voice,
and my belly smarted with each little spasm.

“Mmm. Only a bit.” He chuckled. “It
 
is
 
only Monday.”

“What did you
do?”

“Just a pretty
picture. You’ll be a little sore.” His breath hit first and then he
licked along the shallow wounds, tracing the letters of his name.
An ache blossomed through the hurt and I twisted my hips to usher
him where it throbbed. He followed too, easing himself down the bed
until he nuzzled at the apex of the scarves.

“Please?” I
whimpered.

He splayed my
legs and the tight bindings bit into my hips. “Again.” He purred
over my wet flesh.

“
Please
.”

“Mmm.” He
sucked lightly at my inner lips and I was a bucking, moaning mess.
“Not so fast.”

The blunt edge
of the knife pressed right next to my clit, the other side grating
on sticky silk. He inhaled and began to lick me against it, the
flat of his tongue moulding over the blade. It seemed like he
didn’t miss a millimetre, and I pleaded with him, urged him on in a
ragged language of gasps.

All this, all
of it...for me. He pushed me toward an orgasm he probably wouldn’t
let me have. Nothing mattered; I soared with slow fever and
somewhere below, he mapped the Braille labyrinth with his tongue. I
knew the end would come.

Soon.

The knife
dragged down a little and I lay very still while he toyed with my
lips. It left for a second and then I squealed at the thrust,
terrified he forced the blade inside me, but it was the round,
heavy hilt. Relief grew in the shape of gliding pleasure, my
muscles contracting as it slid in and out.

“Bastard,” I
hissed.

“Thank you.”
His voice grated through teeth. I realized then that he held the
blade in his palm.

He penetrated
me very slowly. Maybe he feared losing control, or that the knife
might take on a life of its own. I begged him to be rougher and my
cries were ignored, and I was so wet that I barely felt it.

“You’re
becoming insolent,” he muttered. “I should teach you a lesson.”

The hilt fell from my pussy and I heard him suck on it,
humming at the taste. Then he spread me further and placed the
sharp edge beside my clit. The squeals that spilled from my lips
were foreign; Charlotte’s voice. Even
she
 
kicked her heels on the very edge of our limits.

“You
 
deserve
 
it.” His mouth was back over the full bud, licking as firmly
and painstakingly as before. I couldn’t roll my hips against him or
I’d charge into the blade, slicing myself wide open, but when his
tongue dug beneath the hood, stroking me so close to the knife, I
cried once more because I feared the hurt anyway.

How long could
I lie still like this? The call to ride the waves was all
consuming. If I gave in, if I threw myself upon them, the warm gush
I craved would be scarlet. And if he carried on, if he made me do
this…what control did I have then?

“Joe,” I
pleaded. “I’m going to…please, don’t make me…”

“Do it.”

“No, I can’t, I
can’t!” The fear rose in my voice and the sound of it made me
tremble. “Don’t make me, please–”

He twisted two
fingers and they sank into me deeply, pressing up beneath my clit.
I bucked my hips involuntarily and was rewarded with a blunt
graze.

I sobbed as I
shook on the edge, and just as I was petrified I might go over, the
word, the word he wanted, rushed out of me to fill the air.

He drew away,
murmuring as he nuzzled up along my body. “Shh, shh…it’s all
right.” He cupped my face as he silenced me with a kiss. When he
pulled back, the blindfold went with him and I shook beneath his
shadowy green eyes.

His cock nudged
between the scarves now, bore down along the mash of wet silk and
lips. I moaned as he entered, relief, retribution and a new form of
torture all at the same time. He took shallow strokes before he
splayed my legs back and then forgot all mercy, charging until I
took him fully and he sank to the very end.

My heart hurt
from the constant pounding, my belly stung and my bound wrists
burned with cool friction, yet the energy poured in a velvet rush.
I had purged something. I felt hot, jittery and…fresh.

He took his
teeth to my neck as he fucked me, biting along the hollows the
knife hadn’t reached. Red welts swelled in the warmth of his mouth,
and I tipped my head back further. I was ritual sacrifice. He was
tooth and fist.

He hooked his
fingers under the scarves at my hips and yanked them tight. They
parted my lips, exposing me further and letting him strike me in
all the places I craved. I wouldn’t hold on much longer but it was
safe, now. I could climb and climb and it didn’t matter where I
ventured or how far I fell.

God, I
fell.

Down, down, from a floating precipice to the smack of a hard
fuck. There were no tears but I sobbed again, seared with the heat
of a convulsing world and the wet mess of contractions that piled
up inside me like traffic. The blindfold flashed before my eyes.
Knives and flowers. Light and dark. I had never, ever come like
this, not from the pressure of such a brutal pounding. It
echoed
 
everywhere.

He slowed inside me as I came down, nuzzling my chin up and
kissing me deeply. “Give me that,” he whispered, pulling out. “I
don’t care how you do it, but I want
 
that
.”

I still mewed
softly as he untied my hands. He kissed my raspberry-stained wrists
and then worked out the knots at my hips, leaving me free and naked
after what seemed like hours. I sat up on my elbows and reached for
a discarded scarf.

“Here,” I whispered, gesturing to the edge of the bed. He
obeyed, and I slid down to kneel at his feet. His stomach twitched,
muscles rippling beneath the faint spatter of blood. My wound had
imprinted, the letters he'd carved visible:
 
Joseph
 
on Joseph. A mirror made
flesh. As I bent forward, I licked the underside of his cock and it
shot up against his belly with a jerk. No use in teasing him–it had
all been as much for him as for me.

Just as he had
done, I folded the scarf lengthways. Then I brought it beneath his
cock and crossed it at the top. I still smiled as I jerked the
cross tight and he yelped, falling back on his hands.

Holding the
scarf ends in my fists, I stroked his cock up and down. I was
careful not to pass his head until the third or fourth go and when
I did, he began to groan. He looked damson purple, even in the dim
light–a new shade in our pantheon of paint for whores.

With the swipe
of a large hand, he shoved me down to lick him. I sank further,
taking each of his balls in my mouth and sucking lightly, and his
voice wavered in a tone I’d never heard before. This man would
shudder, would fall.

I bit my lip as
I stared up at him, still working the scarf back and forth. “All
over me,” I whispered

“Is that so?”
Those eyes were dimming, the lids rolling closed.

“Everywhere.
Shut up and come for me.” I gave the ends another tug and his
cockhead bulged.

He laughed when
he broke, laughed and swore as if he’d cheated death itself. He
rocked and spurted over me, streaks of syrup coating my cheeks and
stinging the grazes on my stomach.

Then he
practically fell off the bed, pinning me and kissing me with savage
grace.

“You, Miss
Vaughn, are a very, very good lawyer.”

“A
good…lawyer,” I repeated, still getting my breath.

“Mmm. I’m
telling you so that when you hear me say it in a board room, or a
restaurant…you’ll know what I really mean is that you’re the most
lush little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He glanced at the
knife-hilt hanging off the bedside table. “Among other things.”

“I think I do
know you,” I said softly. “Just not in any way I imagined.”

“You’re like
me.” He kissed me again and I nodded as far as he’d let me.

“I’m like
you.”

Even in the buzz and the afterglow, I couldn’t help
remembering what everyone thought Joseph was
 
like
.
What were we, a pair of werewolves rutting under a full moon and
tearing out the throats of those in our way?

“It’s a good
thing,” he said, as if he saw the image flicker in my mind.

It hadn’t exactly felt like a
 
bad
 
one. I turned my hand before
me, checking for telltale claws and hair.

He rolled onto his side and I came up on my elbows, gazing
down at my scratched stomach. His name stretched from hip to hip in
looped calligraphy and it rippled with each breath. There was
something grimly beautiful about it. The marks were raw pink and
chalk white but at the
 
p
, a
ruby winked between the lines; he’d almost lost control toward the
end. I pressed a finger to it. Though the skin was sensitive and
slightly raised, I had no great pain.

How long would
it last?

“It’ll clear up
in a week or so,” he said, his fingers joining mine.

Stop reading my mind, Mr Merchant. It’s
unsettling.
 
“Shame,” I breathed.

“If you’re a
good girl, I’ll give you another one.” He patted me on the head as
he rose, padding out into the living area.

Pain ebbed as I
climbed onto the bed and my belly scraped over the sheets. I buried
myself beneath them and stretched out; it was still syrupy
warm.

Joseph returned
with a bottle of Champagne and a black velour tub tied with ribbon.
He sat up on the bed with his knees bent and legs spread, and I
crawled over to sit between them. Gold frothed into flutes on the
bedside table while I dug into the box of truffles.

“Didn’t have
you pinned as a chocolate man.” I giggled.

“There weren’t
any accountants in the mini bar.” He dipped his finger in the
Champagne and made me suck it off. “Good?”

“A little dry,
actually.”

“Ungrateful
bitch.”

I fell against
his chest and laughed up at him. “I’m pretty sure I showed you how
grateful I was.”

He smoothed my
hair, gazing back at me. “How many men have you done that for?”

“What, the
outfit?”

“Any of
it.”

Now, I paused.
“The scarves…a couple of clients. And the rest…um.” That knife grew
bigger every time I looked at it. Menacing. “How many girls have
you used one of those with?”

“One. A long
time ago.” He wrestled the chocolate box from me. “And that time, I
think, was a mistake.”

“Why do you say
that?”

“She didn’t
want it for the reasons you did.” He pulled my hair gently. “Not
that I presume to know yours, of course.”

I nodded toward the Champagne. “You’re
 
presumptuous
 
enough
already. Where’s my single malt?”

“Oh, shut up.”
He kissed my forehead lazily. “What was going on earlier?”

Ugh. “With
Matt?”

“Yes.” He reached for his glass. “And
 
Felix
.”

“How do you
know Ai–I mean, him?” I said, cringing at my feeble attempt to
protect Aidan.

“He was in some
of your agency pictures. I haven’t hired him, if that’s what you’re
asking. I’m surprised that he’s friendly with Matt.”

“I introduced
them. Don’t worry…I haven’t seduced Matt away to the wonderful
world of whoring.”

“Led him
somewhere else though, didn’t you?” He ran a fingertip along my
bare arm, leaving goose pimples in his wake. “He’s very
stubborn.”

“Why did you do
it?”

“Do what?”

“The first
night you hired me,” I said softly. “Why? And why did you involve
him?”

“I wondered
when you’d ask me that.” The sheets rustled as he stretched his
legs. “Do you want the simple version or the complicated one?”

“What do you
think?”

“There have
been other call girls…though I expect you know that,” he began,
kneading my shoulders. “You…well. You always seemed like such a
good little worker bee, Leila. Do you have any idea what it was
like when I found you on that website?”