Play Me Real (8 page)

“You’re right,” he tells me, his thumb sweeping over my lips once, twice, before pushing gently inside my mouth. I suck him deep, taste myself on him as I swirl my tongue around and around his thumb. “I’m my father’s son. And a bigger bastard never walked the face of the earth.”

He pulls his thumb out and I whimper at the loss. At least until he skates it over the slight bump of my chin to my neck. Down my neck to the center of my chest. Down my chest to my belly button. Over my belly button to my abdomen. Down my abdomen to my mons. Down my mons to—yes, finally, my sex.

He thrusts inside roughly, no warning, no prelude, nothing but his thumb thick and strong inside me.

I gasp at the feel of him, spread my legs to give him better access. And then nearly cry in relief when he bends and sucks one of my nipples deep into his mouth. I’m still so aroused that it doesn’t take long to get me right back where I was before he stopped, nerve endings screaming in agony, brain drowning in a thick, warm lassitude, body all but begging for relief.

Sebastian stokes the fire with his mouth, his hands, his voice. He whispers to me as he runs his lips over my abdomen, as he presses kisses to my inner thighs, as he licks at the drenched folds of my sex. Dirty, filthy things that make me tremble. That make me ache.

I’ve been so aroused for so long now that my whole body hurts. My every muscle is tense, my every nerve ending crying out for relief. And still Sebastian takes his sweet time. Still he pushes me to the brink of climax, the brink of madness.

I’m reaching for it, my whole body straining for an orgasm that I feel like I’ll die without. I’m close, so close. So, so close.

And then Sebastian’s gone again. And I’m alone.

“Please,” I beg as tears well up in my eyes, as sobs rip from my chest. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he tells me and I nearly collapse in relief. He isn’t touching me but he hasn’t left me, either. He’s right behind me, so close that I can feel the vibration of his voice against my too-sensitive skin.

And still he doesn’t touch me. Still, he doesn’t comfort me.

The pain of it is almost too much to bear and I nearly fall to my knees with it. Nearly bend—nearly break—under the weight of my own desire.

But in the middle of it all, in the middle of the agony and the lassitude and the dark, dark confusion, I have a moment of absolute clarity. And that’s when it hits me.

This is about more than getting off. About more than keeping me on the edge. This is about tonight and how out of control Sebastian feels. It’s about Dylan and Janet and his father. It’s about the helplessness he felt when his best friend died, the helplessness he still feels.

This is Sebastian controlling me because he can’t control what happened. About hurting me because he’s hurting. About using me to stave off the pain of everything that came before.

Knowing that, understanding that, I wouldn’t have this any other way.

From the moment we met, Sebastian has taken care of me even when I didn’t know I needed to be taken care of. Here, tonight, it’s my turn to take care of him. My turn to give him what he needs. And if he needs this, the pleasure and the pain, the control and the cruelty, then I’m willing to give it to him.

It’s a little bit of a shock to realize there isn’t much I’m not willing to give him.

And then he’s touching me again, taking me back up to the edge and leaving me there.

Again and again he does it. Again and again I let him. Until his every touch is a razor blade against my nerves, his every kiss salt rubbed into a raw and aching wound. Until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t
be
without pain. Without wanting him and being denied.

The eighth time he goes to step away—maybe it’s the seventh, maybe the ninth, I’m so lost in the maelstrom of my own suffering that I’ve lost count—I break. My knees go out from under me and I hit the floor hard as sobs—deep and raw and ugly—rip through me.

“Aria?” It’s the first time he’s said my name in a long, long time and the fact that he’s doing it now, when it doesn’t matter anymore, only makes me cry harder.

“Baby, please.” He drops to the ground beside me, tries to pull me into his arms.

But it’s too late. I fight him like a wild thing now, kicking and biting and writhing beneath him. I yank at my bonds, desperate to get my arms free. Desperate to get as far away from Sebastian and his fucked up lovemaking as I possibly can.

He pulls me into his lap anyway, his arm a manacle around my waist, holding me to him no matter how hard or how long I fight.

In the end, it isn’t long at all. I’m too exhausted, too hurt, too
sad,
to put up much of a fight. And so I just stop. Stop fighting. Stop trying to get away. It doesn’t matter anyway. Sebastian is going to do whatever he’s going to do. And though he’d never force me, never rape me, I can’t say anymore that he won’t hurt me. That he won’t tear me apart emotionally, won’t ravage me until there’s nothing left of the woman I’ve worked so hard to build.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me as he reaches behind me. I feel his fingers on mine, feel a tug on the knot holding my arms behind my back. And just that easily, my hands are free.

If only I could say the same about me.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers the words against my skin and I feel the hot burn of his own tears against my neck.

It touches me though I don’t want it to, has me struggling to raise my arms so that I can soothe him even as I feel myself spin completely out of control.

But my arms have been behind my back for a couple hours and now that the blood is rushing back into them, the pain is excruciating. I can barely breathe through it, let alone convince my limbs to obey any order my strung out brain tries to give them.

Sebastian must tie women up a lot, because he knows right away what the problem is. He takes first one arm, and then the other, chafes his hands against the skin over and over again until the pins and needles slowly disappear.

He doesn’t say anything as he works on me, but then again, neither do I. I’m not sure there’s anything to say, and if there is, I’m pretty damn sure Hallmark doesn’t make a card for the occasion.

More’s the pity.

The worst part is my body still wants him, still craves him like a drug. My pussy is wet, my nipples hard and my body is literally screaming for relief. Relief that only Sebastian can give it.

And he knows it. Of course he knows it. It’s not like I can hide the evidence. And though a part of me wants to protest when he slides his fingers between my thighs, the rest of me is screaming yes, yes, yes.

And then he’s inside me, his fingers curved to hit my G-spot with every thrust of his hand against me. His thumb is on my clit, his mouth at my ear and it takes less than a minute for him to take me up again and then fling me over the edge, right into the sun.

My orgasm goes on and on, as Sebastian draws every ounce of pleasure out of me with his wicked, talented hands. And then, just as I’m floating back to earth, just as my body starts to relax in the first time in what feels like days, he sends me right back up the cliff. And then he sends me over again.

This time the pleasure is even more intense, more acute.

And still he’s not done. Only this time he shifts me so that my legs are straddling his hips and his cock is resting long and hard against my sex.

“Take me,” he says, his voice hoarse with need and remorse and something else I won’t let myself even try to identify. “Please. Take me inside of you.”

I should say no. Should push to my feet and walk away. Should leave him desperate and begging like he left me again and again and again.

But I can’t do that to him, can’t treat him with the same callous disregard that he showed me. Not when I’m just now realizing that I love him. In spite of everything.

And so I push myself onto my knees, bracing one hand on his shoulders as my other hand works to fit his cock against my sex. And then I’m sinking down on him, slowly, slowly. Taking him inside of me. Relishing the way he feels, the way he fills me up.

I begin to move, lifting and lowering myself on his cock again and again and again. I shift, lean forward a little so that my breasts are pressed to his chest, my lips inches from his mouth. It’s the best angle for me—with every drop of my hips the head of his cock is sliding over my G-spot.

And still it’s not enough.

He’s inside me, filling me up, so close that I can feel his breath against my cheek, his sweat against my skin. Yet something feels wrong, feels off. I put it down to everything that came before—to the mistakes we both made—but it isn’t until Sebastian grabs on to my hips and starts to lift and lower them in a rhythm that has my body straining toward a third explosive orgasm, that I come to understand the truth.

I want Sebastian to be in control. My body needs him to be in control. Just that one simple act—him seizing control from me even while I’m on top—sends me careening into another orgasm, this one stronger and more powerful than either of those that came before it.

Seconds later, Sebastian joins me, his hips bucking against me as he floods me with all that he has to give.

When it’s over, when I can breathe without bleeding, and stand without shaking, I push slowly, painstakingly to my feet. Start gathering my ripped and tattered clothes as I try to make what’s left of them just respectable enough to get me home.

“Aria. Don’t go,” Sebastian tells me as he watches me dress.

Maybe if it had been a request instead of an order, I might have stayed. Maybe if he had pulled me into his arms and told me that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to hurt me, I could have found a way to reconcile what I know with what I want to be true. And maybe, just maybe, if my past wasn’t what it is…if I wasn’t so goddamned terrified of falling back into the trap of my childhood and the trap of my engagement, I might be willing to risk being with a man as dominant and controlling as Sebastian.

But things are what they are and if tonight has shown me nothing else, it has shown me just how ill-equipped I am to deal with a man like Sebastian. It’s not his fault. It’s not mine.

It just is.

And so I find my purse where I dropped it by the door and sling it over my shoulder. I slip on my shoes. And then I cross to Sebastian, doing my best to ignore how beautiful, how strong, how perfect he looks even in the middle of all this bleakness.

I kiss him on the forehead, on the cheek. Then I turn and walk straight out his front door without a backward glance. And pretend that my heart isn’t breaking wide open with every step that I take.

Do
n’t miss this continuing series, five installments available now from Loveswept

Play Me #1: Play Me Wild

Play Me #2: Play Me Hot

Play Me #3: Play Me Hard

Play Me #4: Play Me Real

Play Me #5: Play Me Right

Play Me Wild

Play Me Hot

Play Me Hard

Play Me Real

Play Me Right

Ruined

Addicted

Exposed (coming soon)

Shredded

Shattered

Slashed (coming soon)

Full Exposure

Tie Me Down

PHOTO: © KEVIN GOURLEY

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author T
RACY
W
OLFF
lives in Texas and teaches writing at her local community college. She is married and the mother of three young sons.

tracywolff
books.com

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om/TracyWo
lffAuthor

@tracywolff