Sweet and Dirty (19 page)

She pushed at him, started to pull her pants up. “Don’t. Please. You can’t do this.”

He slapped her hand away. Yanked her pants back down.

She hit him, a weak punch that he probably didn’t even feel. Stumbled away, pulling her pants up.

He caught her, collared her neck with his hand, walked her backward until she felt the cold edge of the teacher’s desk. He whirled her around, bent her over it. “How about I fuck you this way. Like this.” He ground his hardness against her crack.

“No!” She struggled, splinters stabbing her fingertips. The little pains were only hot goads to her, with Sylvester’s enormous cock so near, almost there. He still wore his clothes. Damn it, why was he still dressed? She was about to come just from his pinning her. The thought of him penetrating her with his cock while scornful and violent made her pant with an animal lust she’d never felt before. “Let me go,” she pleaded, making sure a thrust of her hips brushed against his rigidity. She didn’t have to fake the desperate sound in her voice.

He cursed. The sound of his zipper was loud in the empty schoolroom. She closed her eyes in silent gratitude, until she remembered to whimper.

It acted on him like an aphrodisiac, and his castigation of her grew more vicious as he dry-humped her, a promise. “No,” he snapped when she struggled too hard. He grabbed a handful of hair, yanked her head back, spoke in her ear. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you. And I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.” When her head fell back, movement caught her attention. A shadow in the window. Someone watching?

Sylvester saw it, too. He froze.

A moment later, the wooden door flew open. A man entered, his apologies panted out. His frantic air made her not recognize him at first.

Tense, Sylvester pushed away from her with, “Time out.”

All she could do for a long moment was gape at the intruder. “Mage!” A thin sheen of sweat gave his olive-toned skin a frenetic glow. His hair stood up in wet spikes. His clothes stuck to his body in places. He looked as if he’d run a four-minute mile.

He didn’t seem to even see her.

Mage got his breath back. “Kiana, she has collapsed, she will not let anyone call an ambulance. She is asking for you.”

Sylvester nodded. He walked as he buttoned. His brusque voice galvanized. “Nora. Get dressed. Mage? Wait for Nora.” Sylvester disappeared through the still-open door.

Nora dressed, unselfconscious. “What happened?”

“Kiana. Stubborn, willful woman. I do not know what is wrong with her. No ambulance. She is foolish.” His tone of frustration with a woman’s stubbornness made laughter well up unexpectedly in Nora.

“We’d better go, then. Help protect her from herself.”

Mage nodded, serious. “Yes.”

She snorted but followed him, her mind at odds with her body. Her mind mulled over the latest development, filled with curiosity and concern about Kiana, along with a tiny jealous worry that Kiana inspired Sylvester to drop everything to rush to her assistance.

Her body still burned. Her skin prickled with the memory of Sylveter’s harsh touch, and butterflies in her belly reminded her of him with every step. He’d raised her to a cataclysmic threshold of physical desire…and just left her there.

Mage moved with surprising grace and speed through the forest. He seemed able to avoid the vines catching at her ankles. He never stumbled, even when the moist ground broke and slid under his feet on the downslope.

Possibly his past military experience. He looked back every few minutes, checking on her.

He seemed pleased Nora kept up.

When they stepped from the forest onto the circular driveway, he offered her a bemused smile. “You seemed so small and weak last night. And also up there, with Sylvester. So powerless. But you have speed.”

His praise warmed her. The sense of kinship evoked by his words took her by surprise. She had something in common with Mage, other than the kinky play? How strange to feel a bond with a special-ops torturer.

Then they were in the house, joining the circle of people surrounding Mistress Kiana.

S
ylvester entered the living room to see White cradling Mistress Kiana. As he got closer he could see the black woman actually had her hands full trying to restrain the long-haired Mistress.

He took in everyone else at a glance: Master Andre paced behind the couch. Black and Kitten bracketed the arms of the couch, Kitten kneeling near its foot, Black in a studded white leather catsuit at its head. Ryan sat some distance away.

Even Osmond was there, his bag hanging from a beam near the fireplace.

“Some water might help,” Black said when she spotted Sylvester. “And a thermometer.” She hissed when one of Kiana’s flailing fists connected with the side of her head. “And some damn restraints.” She said that last with exasperation and a pointed look at Little Peter.

“No restraints for Mistress.” Peter folded his arms.

Black frowned at him.

Sylvester dropped to his knees, took Kiana’s hand. It felt cold, clammy. Her face had a gray tinge that worried him. She turned her head from side to side, mumbling.

Sylvester addressed everyone. “What happened?”

Little Peter answered. Tears stood out in his eyes. “She just collapsed. Mistress was disciplining me. With a flogger. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sylvester said automatically, trying to see Kiana’s pupils. She moved around too much; he was afraid he’d poke her in the eyeball. He sighed. “We should call for an ambulance.”

“No doctors. No hospital.” Kiana glared at them all, trying to sit up. “Can’t…think.” She lapsed into an incomprehensible mumble.

Sylvester looked at Little Peter. “Get her water.”

The submissive leapt up, ran to the kitchen.

Sylvester addressed White. “How long has she been like this?”

“Twenty minutes? Something like that.” Her voice soothed, and she rocked Kiana like a small child and crooned to her. “You overexerted, didn’t you, honey. I warned you, didn’t I?” She looked at Sylvester. “Maybe I should drive her down there.”

Kiana shook her head, possibly in disagreement.

“It’s all my fault,” Little Peter moaned. His hand shook as he handed the glass of water to Sylvester. Water sloshed over the edge. “I got turned around. I was scared. Mistress said if I got like that, I should pull over and call her, so I did and she talked to me, helped me find my way back here. I asked her to punish me. I begged her to.” The service submissive hugged himself, trembled.

“It’s not your fault,” Sylvester repeated. He looked at Little Peter. The boy couldn’t be any younger than twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, but he came across like a helpless child.

Sylvester lay a hand on him. He spoke as he would to a frightened kid. “She’ll be fine. I promise. Now, sit down and take it easy for now, okay? Help her by staying calm. Okay?”

Little Peter sniffled, then shrugged Sylvester’s hand off angrily. “You don’t know she’ll be okay. You don’t know everything.”

Kiana tried to sit up. “Don’t speak that way to Sylvester. He’s not guilty. They found him not guilty.”

A prickle of recognition crawled up Sylvester’s spine. He thrust the glass of water at Kiana, who gazed at the air between him and Little Peter. Her glazed eyes didn’t see either of them. They looked into the past.

“Drink. Help her drink,” he told White.
Get something in her mouth to quiet her
, he prayed.

White looked at him oddly, but took the glass. “Hey, honey. Want some nice water?”

“Sylvester admitted raping her. They arrested him.”

Sylvester needed Kiana to shut up. Fast. He considered gagging her.

As he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed two more join the gathering: Mage and Nora.

Kiana spoke as if to an unseen person standing next to Little Peter. “Yes, she was banged up pretty badly. I saw the same pictures. She told everyone Sylvester raped her, ruined her, wrecked her life. He never denied it.”

Sylvester stood rooted. All the old guilt and rage and helplessness rose up, savaging him.

Silence.

White spoke, her voice carefully soft. “She’s passed out again. I think we should call the doctor, find out what to do.”

“Yes.” Sylvester made himself walk toward the kitchen and the nook that held his landline phone. He forced his neck muscles to raise his head, turn it. He met Nora’s gaze.

It was as bad as he’d feared. Her eyes were wide, horrified, for the long, painful moment she looked at him.

She averted her gaze.

As he pulled out the directory, looked up the number, and dialed, he swallowed hard with the effort to concentrate. His world was about to fall apart again, just as it had before. But first, he had to get Kiana the medical help she needed.

After she felt better and wasn’t in any imminent danger, he’d consider strangling her.

Mage cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

Though he patted her arm, Nora felt him growing distant. His gaze jumped around the room, never resting for long on any one thing. “Crowds make me uncomfortable,” he explained without looking at her. “But I would like to see you again. Tonight?”

Nora nodded, on automatic. Her thoughts were elsewhere. “Tonight is the Chase and Capture.”

“Ah, yes.” He stared at her. “You are participating?”

“I’d planned on it.” Her voice sounded wooden, dead to her own ears. She wasn’t planning on it anymore. The flare of heat; the pleasurable, guilty clench: it was all gone. At one time, Sylvester had starred in her fevered fantasies. But now Sylvester was a rapist, a real one.

It killed it for her.

She put her hand over her mouth, feeling loss like vomit rising in her.

Mage edged from her, obviously ill at ease in the crowded room. He looked back at Nora. “Are you not feeling well, either?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

He was already leaving. She felt abandoned, though she hadn’t craved Mage’s company.

Maybe the connection she’d felt to these people was all in her mind.

Maybe it was a sign: her rape fantasy should stay locked in her head, where it couldn’t make anyone judge her or hurt her.

She watched as Sylvester hung up, rushed to Kiana’s side, and spoke urgently to her. Her response made him speak in clipped tones Nora could barely hear from her distant position near the sliding glass door.

Little Peter slapped his own head. The young man ran from the room. When he returned, he carried a syringe.

“She’s diabetic.”

Nora jumped. Ryan stood so near she could smell his familiar spicy deodorant. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

He held his hands up, a warding-off gesture. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Nora reached out, touched his arm. “I’m a bit jumpy right now.” Ryan’s words sunk in. “Really? Kiana’s diabetic. Huh. So her injection should set her right again. That’s good.”

“Are you okay?”

The warmth of his body and the caring in his tone weakened her. She swallowed with difficulty and found her voice. “I don’t know.”

“That must’ve been hard on you, finding out Sylvester’s a real rapist. Or does that make you want him even more?”

Her nerves tensed. She closed her eyes. Opened them. “You don’t understand. You never did.”

“But I do.” He spoke with a quiet, but desperate, firmness. “This was a wild vacation. For both of us. But it’s time to leave fantasyland behind and go back to real life.”

His repeating the thoughts she’d had in her head moments before shook her. She whispered, “Maybe you’re right.” She felt a strange numbed comfort at the idea. Go back to her predictable routine. Go back and accept the promotion that would give her such a large paycheck and long hours. Go back to Ryan.

Which reminded her. “My ‘real life’ comes with a job you don’t like. My long hours.” She felt tired just thinking about it.

“None of that matters now. Only that we’re together, and away from this place.”

She looked at him, surprised by his bitterness. “I thought you were kind of enjoying yourself.”

“Enjoying being beat on, treated like a dog, locked in cages?” His face suffused with color.

Ah. He liked it but couldn’t admit it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I said I didn’t like it!”

White glided up to them both. “Is this creature annoying you?” She said it kindly, with a smile, but her slender black fingers snaked to Ryan’s ear, twisted just enough to make him yelp. His eyes widened and his breath came faster. Ryan didn’t move away or strike White’s hands from him.

White looked at Nora. “You don’t have to talk to him, if you don’t want. He’s technically still a slave for the rest of the day. In fact, you haven’t really punished him yourself yet, have you?” White shook his head by his ear, making him grimace. “Would you like to?”

Ryan’s face reflected distress deeper than physical discomfort. The flushed skin of his face dampened with new sweat. “Nora, don’t.”

Black joined White. “The doggie said don’t.” She reached for Ryan’s other ear. She twisted harder than White had. “Bad doggie. Down.”

Ryan sank to his knees, staring daggers at Black.

Nora knew she should look away, leave Ryan to the women’s untender mercies. But as she looked at her former fiancé on his knees, she had a strange sense that she didn’t know who he was. She could barely remember what it felt like to be in a relationship with him.

An erection tented his pants.

Ryan was past tense, she realized. At least for the possibility of marrying him. From his shamed, pleading gaze, she could tell he knew it, too. What did he want from her? Domination? Or for her to rescue him from his submission fetish?

She frowned. She didn’t feel much like rescuing him, even if it was possible. They were here because of him, and she’d just suffered a horrible disappointment. Her fantasy, ruined. Her image of Sylvester, tarnished.

Sylvester, who hadn’t denied raping a woman and ruining her life.

Nora narrowed her eyes at Ryan. She had a heartache now, damn it, and here was one of the men responsible for it.

The two women waited patiently.

Remembering how Sylvester had grasped a handful of her hair just above the nape of her neck, she reached out, let her fingers explore the familiar silky curls of Ryan’s blond hair. It was long enough to grab a handful, she discovered with some satisfaction.

She pulled, and the women stepped back. Ryan was in her hands now. Literally.

She craned his neck back the way Sylvester had done to her. Ryan’s expression went from shame to dreamy and pained, the same feelings she remembered having with Sylvester. So Ryan still wanted her, did he? Wanted this, at least. Not that she cared what he wanted, at the moment. “I haven’t forgiven you yet, slave.”

Ryan became a submissive right before her eyes. “Please, Mistress Nora. Tell me what to do.” And yet, when his gaze met hers, she still saw anguish.

That made two of them. This dominating of him felt wrong, somehow. As if she were a child playing grown-up. She felt awkward. She felt deprived of her true desires. She felt
angry
.

Holding his hair, she shook his head. Seeing the glint of tears in his eyes made her want to let go, get away from him, from all of them.

Instead, she smiled a Sylvester smile of contempt and said, “Lick my shoes clean.” She flung his head from her as if it were a soiled thing.

The speed with which he bent to the task made Black and White nod approvingly.

Nora could only look down at the top of Ryan’s head as it bobbed over her shoes. He tongued clean her dirty, well-used running shoes. Ryan was her slave. She could flog him, dominate him, do anything she wanted to him. As a submissive, he’d do it; not just at Twisted Wood, but at home as well. It was in his nature to enjoy such treatment; his reaction made that clear.

Ryan gagged on the dirt, coughing. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” He began licking again.

A muted thrill ran through her. The power intoxicated. But the feeling was overshadowed by a looming sadness. Their relationship was truly over.

More important, she realized she didn’t crave a submissive partner.

She frowned. She didn’t want a dominant partner either, not exactly. It wasn’t that simple. While the floggings and paddlings, bondage and electrical play had given her pleasure, not to mention memories for a lifetime, they weren’t her fantasy.

Reflexively, her gaze sought Sylvester.

He stood some distance from the couch, staring at her. Her breath caught at the raw attractiveness of him, and her heart flipped over in her chest even as the new knowledge twisted and turned inside her.

Nora yanked her gaze away, looked at the couch instead. Mistress Kiana sat up, tired but aware, attended by Little Peter. Master Andre sat next to the revived woman, holding her arm, his fingers positioned at her wrist to check her pulse.

Osmond hung in his bag, silent and paradoxical.

Futility crept over her. Her vacation was over.

“Stop,” she told Ryan.

“Mistress?” He looked up, saliva making his chin shine. “Am I not doing a good enough job?” His eyes brightened. “Do you need to punish me?”

Nora couldn’t suppress her shudder. “No, Ryan. Just get up. I’m done playing.”

Ryan didn’t move. Confusion crossed his face. “But…you’re good at it. We can keep going…?”

She couldn’t miss the erection in his pants. He was really into it, she realized. But she shook her head. “Sorry, a slave isn’t what I need.” It was horrifying to her, suddenly, seeing him at her feet. “Please just get up.”

The color drained from his face. Then flooded it again, a blush of embarrassment as he climbed awkwardly to his feet. He wiped at his chin so hard he left scratch marks. He stared daggers at her.

“What?” she asked him, mystified by his anger.

“Nothing.”

White stepped forward, buckled a collar around Ryan’s neck. “It’s okay, honey, he’s just disappointed.” She attached a leash, tugged at it playfully. Ryan resisted, a look of such fury on his face that Nora flinched from him. “Oh, he’s really craving punishment. I think we have time for some of that before tonight’s big event, don’t we, Black? The boy clearly deserves it.”

“Make the doggie howl?” Black smiled sadistically. “Always fun.”