Dangerously Broken (17 page)

Love him. Love him. Love him
.

*   *   *

J
AMIE FELT HER
soft, hot inner muscles squeezing his fingers, felt how wet she was, swollen with desire that echoed with each stroke of the Lucite cane. He wasn’t even sure she was aware that he was using it on her—this heavy cane with the evil, sharp-edged twists in the Lucite, making it an incredibly high-pain toy. No, she was high as a kite on sensation. He could see it in the way her tightly bound body bowed a little with each hard stroke. In how gorgeously wet she was. In the heavy cadence of her breath. She was moaning, but he recognized it more as low sounds of pleasure than pain.

He kept up the quick cadence while he thrust his fingers inside her. She was welting gorgeously, the red marks rising on her skin. He could smell her desire, the scent of her hair, mixing into some intoxicating perfume. And he was hard as steel, as hard as any of his canes. She was so damn beautiful it was overwhelming, and never more so than at this moment, as her body surrendered what her psyche didn’t want to. But even that inner struggle was beautiful to him.

Her hot little pussy tightened and he ordered her, “No, Summer Grace. Do
not
come.” He gave her left thigh a hard smack that had her crying out. “That’s right. Your climax is your gift to me. It’s
mine
. Say it.”

She’s mine. She belongs to me, damn it.

“Yes, it’s yours. I come for you, Jamie.”

Her words hit him like a small blow to the chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d made her say such a thing to him, but the words carried more power than ever before. He had to pause and take a breath, shaking his head.

Get it under control.

He gave her thigh another sharp crack with the evil cane.

“Ow! God . . .”

He did it again, spreading his fingers inside her, opening her up.

“Jamie . . .”

“Are you safewording?”

“What? No.”

He hit her across both thighs.

“Ah, God!”

“Wrong name, sweetheart.”

And again.

“Ah! Fuck. Jamie.”

She was writhing, and he could see the pain and pleasure warring in her body. And she was soaking wet, flooding his hand with each stroke of the cane, which told him pleasure was winning. He wanted to bring her pleasure. Wanted to bring her pain. For her. For him. He needed to know she trusted him this much. That she wanted this. That she wanted him to be the one who did these things to her. Only him.

Fuck.

He dropped the cane and bent to unhook her ankle cuffs, then her wrists, and she fell into his arms. He kissed her cheeks, her closed eyelids, as he carried her to the leather love seat next to the giant web. He sat with her in his lap, stroking her hair from her flushed cheeks. And cursed himself as tears spilled from beneath her closed eyelids.

“Baby, baby,” he murmured.

“Jamie,” she gasped, blinking, her arms winding around his neck.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

She buried her face in his neck, and he loved the warmth of her breath there, but he had to have an answer. He took her face in his hand, forcing her gaze to his. Her blue eyes were glazed with tears and need, her lids heavy. And Christ, he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Tell me, Summer Grace.”

“It’s just . . . You’ve never played me so hard before.”

“Too hard?”

She shook her head, her blonde hair all over the place, like scattered corn silk. “It’s like everything I’ve ever needed. I had no idea—no idea! It’s not just the pain. It’s the way you command me, Jamie. I didn’t know I would love it this much.”

“Ah, sugar, those words are like gold to me. You have no idea.”

And he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t give voice to the fact that she was probably as close to perfect as any woman would ever be for him. That he didn’t think he could survive if he lost her now. Because that little fact scared the shit out of him. But she was here. He could be with her. Touch her, hold her, play her. Make her come in a way neither of them would ever forget.

He kissed her cheek, her lips, opened up her eager mouth with his tongue, sucking hers in. Sweet as pie, his girl. And her hot mouth was as hungry as his. She was squirming in his lap as he kissed her, and he’d never been so damn hard in his life. He was going to fucking burst—just come all over her perfect ass in his lap like some kid.

He groaned, pulling his mouth away. She started to pout until he pressed a hand between her thighs once more, forcing them apart. He dove into her hair with his other hand, grasping it tightly at the roots, and pulled, forcing her to lie back against the arm of the love seat while his fingers plunged in and out of her.

“Not yet,” he warned, and she groaned in answer, biting her lush lower lip.

She ground down against his erection and he slipped his fingers from her. “Look at me,” he ordered.

Her lashes fluttered and she focused her gaze on his, watching him, her pupils widening as he slid his fingers, wet with her juices, into his mouth and sucked.

“You want to come, sugar girl?”

“Yes, please, Jamie. Please . . .”

“Wait for my command.”

He lowered his hand and began to squeeze and pinch her clit, then pushed his fingers into her tight pussy once more.

“Ah . . .”

“Hold it back.”

He began a slow rhythm, fucking her with two fingers, then three, and her hips were arching, working his fingers. He let her hair go to wrap his other hand around her throat, and her eyes opened wide as he pressed down a bit, carefully listening to her restricted breathing even as he continued to thrust inside her, his thumb on her hard clit.

“Oh yeah, you feel so damn good. So wet for me, sugar. Do you know how hard I’m going to fuck you? Do you know how badly I need to lick you? To eat you up? To taste your come on my lips?”

He moved his hand faster, plunging into her while she panted. Her struggle to hold her orgasm back was a beautiful thing—the exquisite beauty of her face torn in an agony of pleasure. When he told her, “Now!” her face twisted, and she screamed as she came.

Her body shook as he fucked her hard with his hand, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. Her eyes rolled back and he released her throat, sliding his hand to her breast, pinching the luscious pink nipple. And had to order himself not to come with her as he worked her up again. Her body rose, arching into his hand, and her breath was a sharp, panting rasp as her inner walls clenched around his pumping fingers, as she started to come once more. His whole body ached to be inside her, but he kept working her with his hands, watching a dark blush rise on her breasts, her face, as her climax made her shake, her voice a raw cry.

She was still trembling, her muscles spasming, when he lifted her in his arms and stalked across the dungeon floor to the hall that led to the private rooms at the back of the club. He went through the first door he found open—a room with black-painted walls and nothing in it but a high canopy bed draped in black and silver brocade and a side table supplied with condoms, lube and bottled water. But all of that was nothing more than a blur at the edges of his vision. The rest was filled up with Summer Grace—her smooth babyskin, her gorgeous breasts.

He laid her on the bed as gently as he could, which wasn’t very gently at that moment. He was too shaken by her, by the overwhelming lust he felt for her. The pure need that went far beyond even the raw physical desire—that went to that place where he needed to be as close to her as possible.

He stripped his clothes off as quickly as he could, the damn leather pants slowing him down, But finally he was naked. He grabbed a condom and climbed on top of her. She was still panting, languid and spent. But he intended to spend her more tonight—and himself.

She watched him through hazy blue eyes as he knelt over her to roll the condom onto his painfully hard cock. As he spread her thighs wide, pushing her knees up to her shoulders and holding them there, he paused to take in the beautiful sight of her pink pussy, the lips and clit swollen and tender-looking, before he plowed into her wet heat.

He threw his head back, pleasure momentarily stunning him, driving deep. His legs, his arms, shook, his cock pulsing. He bit back a groan and slid slowly out, every inch agony, beautiful, orgasm building inside him like a thundercloud ready to burst. He surged back into her, and desire rolled through him—sharp. Dazzling.

She gasped, reaching for him, and he pinned her arms over her head, holding her delicate wrists in one of his hands. Blinking up at him, her lovely lips parted, and his gaze locked on hers.

Jesus.

Simply looking at her was almost too much.

Control.

He sucked in a breath, arched into her once more. And again she gasped.

He pulled back, thrust hard.

“Ah! Jamie . . .”

He bent and kissed her mouth, ran his tongue across her pink lips. But when her tongue darted out he had to raise himself up again, watching her watching him.

Jesus.

Pleasure shivered through him, rattling him to the core. He bit it back.

Control, damn it.

Once more he pressed into her.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

He shook his head, knowing it would send him over the edge.

“Kiss me, Jamie,” she pleaded again.

Instead he pressed a thumb between her parted lips, and she took it and sucked it into her luscious mouth, swirling her tongue over the tip as if it were his cock. And suddenly sensation wrapped around his cock as if her wet mouth were there. The storm raged through his body, pleasure a roar that rendered him deaf to anything but his own cries. His body shook with the force of his orgasm. Coming was painful, it was so intense. Painful and fucking amazing, and like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Ah! Ah, Jesus. Jesus, baby . . . So good.”

“Jamie.”

“Come again for me, my sugar girl.”

He ground into her, his cock still hard, still coming a little, maybe. And in moments he felt that hot clench of her sleek little pussy. Pleasure shafted into his belly, into his balls, and as she came, her cries rending the air, it was almost as if he was coming again, too.

Then he did kiss her—he had to. He took her mouth, pushing his tongue inside, meeting her panting breath with his own. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough. Couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Couldn’t get enough of her. It was the most incredible feeling. And even as the last of the storm passed through her, and through him, he knew that this girl could either be his heaven, or his undoing.

Rolling off her, he disposed of the condom, then reached for her, pulling her close while he tried to catch his breath. She snuggled right into that pocket at the juncture of his shoulder and his chest as if she belonged there.

She does belong. She belongs to me.

Wishful thinking, maybe? He didn’t want to overload her. He wasn’t sure what she was ready for. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. And then there was the whole death magnet thing hanging over his head, the black cloud he carried with him everywhere he went. It had been with him his entire life. First Ian. Then Brandon. His parents’ marriage. Then what had happened with Traci. And the one thing he’d never spoken to another person about. Not Mick. Not Allie. And it sure as hell wasn’t something he could tell Summer Grace. Was it?

Don’t fucking think about it.

With a practiced mind, he turned away from the shadowed thoughts plaguing him. Pulling Summer Grace closer into his side, he sought comfort in the warmth of her body. She was so trusting, and it was some weird kind of turn-on—or maybe not so weird for a Dominant. Wasn’t that part of the package? With great power came great responsibility. It was something he craved. He turned to kiss her forehead and found her long, thick lashes resting on her high, flushed cheekbones. So damn lovely, this woman.

“You sleepy?” he asked her.

“Mmm, yes. Sleepy. Needy. Wanting more. Why can’t I ever get enough of you?”

His body immediately responded—so damn sexy. Her husky tone. The words that echoed what he felt whenever he was with her. She squirmed, shifting, and he felt every sinuous curve of her petite, feminine form: soft hips and delicate legs, the flawless curve of her breasts, her hardening nipples pressing against his ribs.

“Jamie? More, please . . . ? I mean, if you’re not done with me.”

He narrowed his gaze in the dim lighting and focused on the black-painted steel crossbars in the canopy overhead—and remembered that all the canopy beds at The Bastille had a built-in suspension system. His imagination kicked into high gear—into hot, screaming overdrive.

“Oh, sugar, the night is far from over.”

“I’m ready. For whatever you want to do to me.”

He slipped his hand down her thigh, over her baby-soft skin, his fingertips reading the welts from the caning like Braille—and it all spoke the language of desire. Of pleasure derived from pain. “Can you come again?”

“I can do whatever you want,” she purred.

He grinned as he sat up and got on his knees on the firm mattress, pulling her up with him by the leather cuffs still attached to her wrists. He got her on her knees and held her arms over her head by the carabiners still attached to the cuffs, and clipped them to the rings on the overhead bars.

“Jamie . . . what . . . ?”

He put a hand over her mouth, which he knew she loved. “Shh, now. You’re going to like this. Or I’m going to like this. Mmm . . . both. All you have to do is get comfortable in the cuffs and straddle my face, pretty girl.”

She blinked, smiled, batted her long lashes. “Ohhh.”

“Cuffs feel okay?”

She flexed her fingers. Good girl. “Yes.”

He smoothed his palms over her thighs as he lay on the bed and slid down, positioning himself until her plump, wet pussy was right over his face. So beautiful. He licked his lips, simply looking at her for several long moments. Then he pulled a pillow under his head so he could reach her. And dove in.

He licked her first, one long, slow slide of his tongue up her slit to the tight nub of her clitoris, then down again. She sighed quietly. He licked again, went a little deeper into her slit this time, the tip of his tongue delving inside her, and she ground her hips against his mouth. He pulled back.