Authors: Christina Crooks
Rough Play (20 page)
She immediately regretted it when he turned an amused gaze on her. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. Well, the movies in her mind said otherwise, but he might not feel the same way yet.
Before she could retract the question, he offered his answer. “My mother. She’s very sick. It’s a repeat bout with cancer. It’s been a challenging year, financially and otherwise. Especially this month.”
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.” She felt her face flame with heat.
“Stop. It’s life. And death. Age and sickness and medical bills happen.” He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind. “Hey, let’s grab a booth.”
“Let’s grab some quiet time downstairs. In the dungeons.” Her instincts were taking over. Their talk of life and death, just as easily as if it were any other subject, inflamed a desire in her for life. For everything life had to offer.
She touched him, a hesitant graze of her fingertips against the silky cotton of his long-sleeved shirt. “You’re one of the good guys, aren’t you?”
“About some things, yes.” He gave her a look that made her want to purr. He guided her to the stairs, led her down them. “I do my best to protect the things I care about.” His fingers grazed her cheek, her smooth hair. She leaned into the caress.
“You’re bringing out my irresponsible side,” he growled, pressing his hard body against her briefly at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m really liking it.”
She didn’t tell him she thought he was one of the most responsible men she’d ever known. Running Subspace, making sure everyone played safely, defending her against harm, caring for his sick mother too.... He’d already had her interest and her lust. Now he had her admiration. Maybe even more.
But of course she wasn’t about to wither his playful mood—or anything else—by admitting heavy things like that right now. She compromised. “I’m really liking you.” She brushed her body teasingly against his. “Find us a private play space.”
He grinned, steering her through the second interconnecting tunnel and beyond its smaller dungeon to a locked door. With a flourish, Martin produced the keys and unlocked it.
21
T
he room was bigger than the one made to look like a medical examination area. It had none of the doctor furniture or tools. The recessed lighting on the walls revealed what at first appeared to be a traditional, tastefully appointed woman’s bedroom, as if the woman in question enjoyed a lot of pink, ruffles, and an ornate gilded mirror perched above a vanity cluttered with old-fashioned perfume bottles, cosmetics, and even a silverhandled brush.
he room was bigger than the one made to look like a medical examination area. It had none of the doctor furniture or tools. The recessed lighting on the walls revealed what at first appeared to be a traditional, tastefully appointed woman’s bedroom, as if the woman in question enjoyed a lot of pink, ruffles, and an ornate gilded mirror perched above a vanity cluttered with old-fashioned perfume bottles, cosmetics, and even a silverhandled brush.
Closer scrutiny revealed the walls, covered in a coordinating design of pink fabric, were lightly padded from floor to ceiling.
Martin watched her walk to the nearest wall and dimple it with one finger.
He closed the door behind him. He locked it.
“The padding’s so people don’t get hurt,” he explained as she poked the other walls curiously. “This is the Rough and Tumble room. Currently decked out as a proper lady’s boudoir for the upcoming Blood Orange Games.” He looked at it critically. “It was a mental asylum last Halloween, but I wanted something different this year.” He looked at her. “Something innocent to defile.”
“I thought you didn’t play.”
“I’ve been living vicariously. Same as you, little miss X-rated visions. Please. Have a seat.” He pulled out an antique-looking padded sitting chair for her. He handed her the silver brush.
She took it, feeling the wild humor rising in her again. “My hair needs attention. Hint taken.” She looked at the ornate silver brush. Clean. Heavy. Its bristles trapped no stray strands. She shrugged, began to use it. The soft bristles stroked her scalp with a soothing, steady caress. She tugged strands of hair, brushing them until they gleamed. The old-fashioned brush offered a gentle touch.
Too gentle.
She was primed for something a bit more wild. No, a lot more wild. She sensed its potential building in them both. She remained just as she was, brushing, letting the energy hum between them. It crowded the air, nearly a tangible thing. The movies taunted her. It was as if he’d plugged into her deepest fantasy.
“Every part of you needs attention.”
She froze at the deep sound of his voice, then continued brushing. “I’m alone, brushing my long hair. All by myself, fantasizing about sensuality. Daydreaming about the sudden appearance of a handsome, dangerous man who just won’t take no for an answer. I’m so innocent, so vulnerable. I wonder what a man’s touch feels like.”
Martin made an appreciative sound. “You play the role well.”
“Do I?” She paused teasingly, letting the brush drift to the table. Her hands slid up over her black shirt, brazenly circling her nipples. She leaned back, her eyelids drifting half closed, dreamy, even as her newly brushed hair slithered sinuously around her shoulders.
“Handsome, huh? I hope that part isn’t a deal breaker.” He spoke wryly, but she saw the real concern in his eyes.
“You’re joking. Right?” She stared at him. She saw his crooked features and uneven lips anew. His piercing, intelligent eyes. His incredible body. The package of him simply worked. How astonishing he had no idea of it. “Martin. You’re the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. Not some airbrushed magazine cover model, but the real, raw deal. You radiate a primal magnetism. I’m sure you’ve seen how many heads you turn.”
He looked uncomfortable. “You’re sweet. If any heads have turned, I haven’t noticed.” He shrugged. “I hold my own with women, I suppose. None of that has seemed important since Mom got sick again, with no one to care for her except me. Death is real. Loneliness is real. That’s about when I realized I wanted to get serious about finding someone to share my life with. Hence the dating-site profile you saw.”
His solemn expression told her he spoke the truth. He honestly had no idea of his sex appeal.
Lucky her.
But she sat up. “You’re attractive enough to make people walk into walls. You’re certainly my fantasy man.”
He grinned. His happiness licked out at her with an almost palpable sparkle. “That’s what I wanted to know.”
Her heart filled with a wondrous ache. It took her a moment to realize it was joy.
Martin spoke again, more lighthearted. “We’ll have to get you a dress. Tight jeans are difficult to yank down. A dress flips up so easily, and panties are simple to push aside. Or rip off.”
She tilted her head, intent. “Are you going to stop living vicariously?”
“I fantasize. Just like you.”
Their eyes locked. She shuddered with frustration. “Then what are you waiting for?” she whispered.
“The proper time.”
“When might that be? Halloween? Have you missed my not-so-subtle invitation to you?”
“A consensual non-consent scene must be negotiated in advance. No, I haven’t missed your signals, you teasing little angel. I don’t believe you’ve missed mine, either,” he said with a wry smile.
She looked pointedly. “Hard to miss.” He offered sizable tribute.
“To answer your question, Charlotte, the proper time is when I decide it is. Edge play can go very wrong. As you know.”
“Fine.” She stood, trying to ignore the sting of rejection. As if she, of all people, wasn’t smart enough to realize things could go wrong. “I guess we can negotiate later. If I don’t find someone else in the meantime.” She tried to stare him into embarrassment, but his steady gaze beat hers down. The floor was covered by a much darker color than the wall, a glossy maroon. It was a large mat, she realized. She poked at it with the toe of her boot. The mat felt thin enough she hadn’t noticed its discreet placement until actually examining it.
“Take your pants off.”
Her gaze snapped back to his. “Excuse me?”
“Do we need to go over that again? I won’t say it twice. Don’t make me repeat myself.” He noticed her glance at the door. “There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that comes on when it’s shut.”
Her fingers toyed with the waistband of her jeans. “You call this negotiating?”
“I can assure you that if you don’t have your pants off within ten seconds, you are going to be one sorry girl. Ten. Nine. Eight.”
Charlotte unbuttoned, unzipped, then remembered her boots. “Give me a minute,” she complained, stooping to remove them.
“Seven. Six. Five.”
She panicked when he walked toward her, stumbling back with her pants around her ankles. “Jeez, wait a sec.”
But he wasn’t walking to her. The dressing table with its carved mirror offered lovely painted drawers on either side of the sitting area. She’d assumed they contained more cosmetics, perfumes, hair ornaments and the like.
Of course, they didn’t.
Martin opened the bottom one, drew out a large, lumpy velvet bundle. It clinked. Jewelry? No, too large.
He glanced at her. “Four. Three. Two.”
She shimmied out of her jeans and stood in her black tee and skimpy white bikini briefs, self-conscious and awkward. “Am I supposed to . . . ?”
“One.”
Martin placed the velvet bundle on the dresser.
Then he turned to her with his most forbidding look, walked her backward, and shoved her against the nearest wall. Its padding cushioned her from damage, but it knocked the air out of her. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he confessed. “And this.” His large hands fisted the front of her panties. The edges dug into her flesh, climbed up her crack despite her clenching against it. With one violent tug, he ripped the material.
The sound of it echoed with the delicious violence of her fantasies, and Charlotte moaned as he flung the shreds of her panties from her. Surely now he’d take her. Here, up against the wall. Or the floor. She didn’t care.
His body heat made her want to moan again with pleasure. The bulk of him nearly touched her. She hooked one slender leg around his still-clothed thigh. Tugged him gently toward her.
“Stop. Go sit in the chair.”
She looked at him unbelievingly. “Now?”
He smiled. “I warned you.” He flipped her around so she faced the wall. Her breath came fast against the papery wall covering. “I can still see the faded marks from our session two nights ago. Very nice.” Her ass twitched as his warm finger traced first one pink marking, then another. “There’s room for more.”
“Wait—”
“Ten spanks for not obeying promptly. There has to be trust, Charlotte,” he said with the infinite patience she’d begun to associate with him. “You need to trust me to take the lead. If I’m leading, you’re following. If you’re following, you do what I say, when I say it. You will count, please. Then we’ll negotiate the rough stuff.”
He landed a brutal blow on her ass.
She struggled, and he had to hold his forearm against her back. She heard his soft voice in her ear. “I’m waiting.”
“One! This seems pretty rough to me.” But she wiggled invitingly. It wasn’t really that rough.
“Just the number, please. Since you’re a slow learner, I’ll let you start again,” he said.
Whack!
The blow impacted even harder. “One.” She heard her sullen voice.
“If you’re not amenable to correction, or not into this, simply say the word ‘red.’ ” His voice, bored.
Did he honestly think she wasn’t into it? Couldn’t he see the sensual thrusting of her rear after each spank? Couldn’t he hear her rapid breaths? Was he totally missing the wetness between her legs?
“One!” she shouted, mock-cheerleader.
She heard a small noise, but before she could turn to see if Martin was laughing, he landed another blow, this one high on her thighs. Was it a coincidence his fingers trailed slowly up to her ass cheeks, probed gently at the crease between her thigh and the mound of her outer labia? It was fast. Too fast.
Whack!
“Two!”
Whack! Whack! Whack!
She counted, barely able to keep up with his strikes. It hurt, of course; skin abused from earlier in the week woke to the new chastisement and complained. And yet, it felt right. Like the itch Martin had mentioned earlier. An itch only he could scratch. If only he’d stop making it worse.
A pleasantly fuzzy heat began to suffuse her.
Whack! Whack!
After she called out the last, his hand lingered, then reached between her legs with unerring aim to circle her clit. The sensation shocked her to motionlessness, lest she inadvertently cause him to stop. She kept still, savoring, even when he altered his movement from circling to caressing with gentleness that stopped and started again, inflaming without satisfying.
She knew he could do it to her all night. Probably would, just to watch her squirm. The bastard.
“Haven’t you punished me enough?” she finally gasped. “Don’t I deserve . . . ?” She felt on the verge of begging.
“Deserve? Get your ass over to that chair. Sit down and spread your legs.”
In a sensual daze, she stumbled from him, attempting to follow his directions. If only he’d tackle her, take her. The man was an unfeeling bastard, made completely of stone.
How she wanted that man, splitting her right up the middle with that one hard, defiling act, using his enormous penis as a weapon. Why wouldn’t he match his actions to the movies looping with provocative insistence in her mind?
She managed to find the chair through blurred vision, sat. “Please,” she finally said.
“No.” Only that.
He smiled though. A flash of eagerness, a hint of anticipation. He crossed to the table, began to unfold the lumpy velvet package.
It worried her. What was it?
He noticed her look. A slight frown marred his face. “Close your eyes. If you open them even a crack, I’ll turn you over my knee and give you twenty hard ones.”
“All I want is one hard one.” But she complied. “Tease.”
He unwrapped the velvet. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”
She peeked. Slithering out from the folds was a length of chrome-plated chain, as smooth and pretty as jewelry. He ran his fingers over each link.
“You’re going to chain me up?”
“You’d best not have your eyes open.”
She shut them quickly. “Nope.”
“Liar.” But she heard the smile in his voice. The sound of another drawer opening tempted her to open her eyes again, but she resisted, though the sounds intrigued her: the liquid squelch of lube? The faint cotton hiss of a towel?
Was that the tickle of his hair on her thighs? His mouth! She cried out at the hot, wet sensation of his lips and tongue between her legs, as intense as it was unexpected. “Oh, yes!” She gripped the carved edges of the chair, pushing herself at him.
He moved slightly away. More teasing. When he brought his talented fingers into play along with his gently flicking tongue, she moaned. He slowed, pushing her upper body farther toward the back of the chair. He lifted her legs, first one and then the other, placing her feet on the edge of the chair. She’d be visible to him completely, though her own eyes remained shut.
Other books
Freaked Out by Annie Bryant
Murder Is My Business by Brett Halliday
El sol de Breda by Arturo Pérez-Reverte
Durinda's Dangers by Lauren Baratz-Logsted
1 Murder on Sugar Creek by Michelle Goff
Curse of Atlantis by Petersen, Christopher David
Bedding The Best Man (Bedding the Bachelors Book 7) by Virna DePaul
Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny by Tempe O'Kun
Warrior Philosophy in Game of Thrones by Briers, Francis
Home Improvement: Undead Edition by Harris, Charlaine