Wild Licks (12 page)

Mal slipped a finger into me and wiggled it. “Speak. Does something concern you?”

“Just, you remember I've had nothing inside me for weeks, right?”

“I know,” he said with a serious nod. He held up the dildo and examined it. “Do you think it's going to be hard to take this?”

“I do.”

He looked me in the eye. “Good.”

When he said that, my entire insides gushed with need. It was like my pussy said to my brain,
Screw you, we need that thing more than we've ever needed anything before.

Without breaking eye contact, he began wetting the thing by rubbing it between my lower lips. Before I knew it, he was pressing the angular, ridged head against my opening.

The tip went in easily, of course, but the thing felt like a ziggurat, widening quickly from the top. It went in until it stuck, not from lack of slickness but from the odd shape and size.

“Take it,” he murmured, and pushed harder.

It went in another inch, another ridge, and then I tightened around it reflexively, panting.

“I know you can do it,” he encouraged, brushing my clit with his thumb, which made me tighten even more but only for a second. When that wave of arousal let go, he pushed in even more.

“Oh God.”

“And heavenly angels,” he said, as if answering me. “Almost there. It's almost in.”

It felt huge and strange and that only increased my craving for it. I wriggled my hips, trying to will myself to open up.

“Knees up,” he said as he pushed them toward my shoulders.

I sucked in a breath as that tightened everything between my legs and made the thing sticking out of me sharply visible to me. “Oh God,” I said again.

And then a new wave of longing swept through me as I held my legs where he had put them while he rolled a condom onto his cock. He slipped a lubricated finger into my ass and I groaned, wanting something more.

He teased me mercilessly, slipping fingers in and out of me for several minutes. Oh, I knew he was making certain my ass was stretched enough to take his cock, but it still felt like merciless teasing.

Mal climbed onto the massage table and then crooked my legs over his bent knees, one hand on his cock, steadying it for entry, the other on the dragon dildo, keeping it in place.

“Oh, fuck,” I said as he thrust, thrusting both his cock and the dildo into me. He gave me a moment to adjust, to savor the wave of pleasure that poured through me on that penetration. “Oh, fuuuuck.”

When he drew back, it was slow, tantalizing, and then he thrust again, and I wrapped my legs around his back out of reflex. It felt amazing but overwhelming at the same time.

“Down,” he commanded. “Lie still. Let me fuck.”

Three simple words that thrust into me as hard as any penetration:
let me fuck.
I relaxed my legs and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I let it out, I whispered, “Sacrifice.”

“Yesss,” he said, and rewarded me with a kiss on the heart.

Thus began the hardest fucking of my life.

I loved it.

The look on her face was incredible as I plowed into her and matched the explosion of euphoria I was experiencing. She looked like she was seeing God and I don't mean that in some self-inflated dom sense; I mean it in the sense of the revelation of miracles. Perhaps we have the keys to heaven, to divinity, locked deep inside us, and it takes going deep to reach them. I'd made an altar, after all, and here we were atop it, worshipping together under the open sky.

Her cries of ecstasy only egged me on to take her harder, faster, driving relentlessly toward my release. Everything that had pent up in the weeks apart, everything I had been holding back tonight as I'd played with her and teased her, I let loose. I roared when I came, and it echoed from the stone, sounding as loud as any dragon I could imagine.

When my hips ceased moving, I opened my eyes. My hair had come loose from the topknot and hung in sweaty strings over my eyes. One of my hands was clamped so hard around her upper arm I had left bruises.

I eased out of her but held the dildo in place. I could manage only short, brutish words. “Did you come?”

She shook her head.

I twisted it back and forth. “I did promise to always leave you satisfied if you would submit to whatever I inflicted,” I said.

A final round of licking her and fire play would do for a finale. I eased the dragon dildo out of her and set it aside, massaging her pussy with my fingers until she purred. Then I uncapped the fuel and soaked and lit the baton again.

She was beautiful, sweat-soaked, radiant, clearly pushed to her limits but still eager to comply with any command of mine. Who could resist that? It was beyond human endurance to expect not to be moved by such a sight. That baffling protective urge welled up again; it felt as if the more severe the pain she suffered, the stronger that urge became. My beautiful treasure. Surely there could not be another woman like Gwen in the world.

I swiped the flame across her belly, putting it out with my palm. Sweet tender lover, her skin, her life, in my hands. I held the flame off to one side while I licked her, thrusting two fingers into her with my free hand.

She built to a crescendo quickly and in mere moments she was coming, much more quickly than I expected.

Accidents don't happen because a single thing goes wrong. Not when you're careful. No, when you're careful, a whole host of things has to go wrong, and when they do, people get hurt.

I had forgotten her legs were no longer tied down. One knee jerked up as she spasmed in her climax, bumping the arm that held the fire baton. That in itself wouldn't have been harmful except having been so recently loaded with fuel, the baton jerking forward threw a gout of burning flame onto the fireproof cloth. Which wouldn't have been dangerous if that had been all. But when I'd removed her blindfold, I accidentally unwound a lock of her wig.

Her flammable wig. I felt a twist of dread lance through me as I saw what was happening in that split second. The stray lock caught fire and even as I hurriedly flung the baton into the hot tub and reached to smother the flame with my hand, she screamed and jerked her head in fear. My dread exploded into horror as her motion jerked the flaming lock onto her own face and set the rest of the wig on fire as well.

I grabbed the lock, pulled it away from her skin, the melting strands of wig burning my palm, but I could not have cared less about that. With the other hand I tugged the wig from her head—the damnable thing was pinned on!—and then tossed the entire partially melted mess into the hot tub as well, leaving a searing pain in my palm and a very blond Gwen under me.

I patted out the last bit of fire guttering against the flameproof cloth with my other hand and then ripped open the Velcro holding one of her wrists.

Her hand flew to her face and then we held still, both panting, me looming over her, the pain in my palm starting to register dimly in my brain.

“Are you all right?” I heard myself ask.

“Yeah. Think so. That was…that was close. I think.”

Oh, Gwen, dear nerdy innocent Gwen, are you sure?
I climbed carefully off her and discovered my hand would not open on command. It wanted to stay clenched tight.

I released her other wrist and she sat up immediately. “Are you all right?” She was reaching for my hand.

I pulled away. “I'm fine. I'm much more concerned about you.”

“I'm fine, I told you. Let me see that.”

“No.” I cradled my hand to my chest and realized how petulant that sounded. “That is…let's get inside and assess in better lit surroundings.”

Inside the suite, we decamped to the bedroom and then into the attached bathroom where the light was best. She examined my still-closed fist. “I'm going to get some ice,” she declared.

She pulled on the T-shirt I had shed on my way through the suite earlier and my long leather duster and out she went.

When she returned, she had a bucket of ice. She added some water to it and then set it on the bathroom counter. I dunked my hand into it without any urging and held it there until the ache of the cold was stronger than the pain. Then I gradually unclenched my fist.

That was a mistake. I nearly screamed and I think came close to cracking a tooth. I closed my fist again.

She looked rather worried. With my good arm, I pulled her close to me, still addled by the scent of sex coming off her skin mixing with the savory essence of the leather she was wearing. “I'm afraid your wig is ruined.” The burn mark on her cheek sent my blood roiling, as if I could rush out to seek revenge on the scoundrel who'd harmed her, and met the heavy stone of dread in my stomach that was the knowledge
I
was
that scoundrel. I swallowed hard, trying to think of what to say, trying to keep my anger at myself well in check. “And you should get some burn cream onto that.”

“Onto what?”

I reached up and ran my thumb close to her cheek, but not actually touching the dark red mark, a crescent shape like a downward frown that might have been starting to blister.
Sweet angels, let it not leave a scar.
I felt bile rising at the thought I had broken my promise never to damage her.

She looked in the mirror. “Oh. Oh my.”

I handed her an ice cube and she pressed it to her face as she sank down onto the side of the bathtub.

“Gwen,” I said, and she looked up sharply, her eyes wide, her other hand flying to her hair.

“Did you…How long have you known?” she demanded. Then before I could answer, “Please tell me you only just figured it out?”

I cupped her unblemished cheek. Dear, precious beauty. “You know I won't lie to you. I figured it out in the trailer after the beach party.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh.” She blinked them away. “Oh.”

Oh indeed. I wasn't even sure where to start untangling this mess. Maybe it was for the best that the truth came out now, before anything truly disastrous happened to body, mind, heart, or soul. “You've been deceiving me. Lying to me.”

“I know.” She shrank down. “I…I know. I'm sorry.”

I should have asked her why, but all I could feel was sorrow and loss. I hated what I had to do next. But the euphoria of the scene faded and was replaced with the dread knowledge of how close to major disaster we had come, how close I'd come to ruining the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. And for what? To bring an adolescent sex fantasy to life? Only one course of action made sense.

“We can't do this again,” I said, shaking my head.

“I'm fine,” she insisted.

“For how much longer? No, Gwen, this whole thing is clearly dangerous beyond all reason.” I realized suddenly that her deception was the lever I could use to pry us apart. “And I don't just mean physically. You've been
lying
to me.”

“And you've been
letting
me!”

“Which only proves how fucked up we are!” I forced myself to look at my palm, regretting it immediately as blood was beginning to well out of the horror-movie wound. I showed it to her for a split second before I clenched it again. “That could have been your face, your head. Your career—”

“Career isn't everything!” she cried, hopping to her feet and grabbing another chunk of ice out of the bucket.

“—your life,” I finished. I took one more breath, putting a heavy lock on my emotions and clicking into post-emergency response mode. I looked around. I needed to take myself to the hospital but first I felt it prudent to remove any trace of what had happened. In the bedroom I dug a pair of track pants out of my bag and stubbornly pulled them on one-handed.

Fishing the burned wig out of the hot tub wasn't difficult, but there was no sign of the swab baton I'd used. It must have been sucked into the filter. Fine. Your average person certainly wouldn't suspect it was a sex toy.

I carried the dildo and the chastity device into the bathroom. Gwen had moved to sitting on the lid of the toilet, looking shell-shocked.

In fact, she was probably in shock, and I meant that in the medical sense. Especially when I went to wash the dildo and realized I was washing off blood. So much for keeping my emotions in check. “Gwen!” I barked in alarm.

“What?”

“Are you sure you're all right?” I slammed the dildo down onto the counter, my own hands shaking.

“Why?”

“This…this . . .” I gestured at the thing. What was I thinking, using it like I did? Why did they even manufacture such monstrosities? “It's got your blood on it!”

She squinted at the green and black object and made an unimpressed face. “Oh, come on, Mal, don't tell me you're freaked out by a little blood. Women bleed, you know.”

Why did the worst explanation—that I'd torn her somehow—seem more believable to me at that moment than the more likely one? I stared at her, trying to reassert my rational mind.

“Stop being such a freak case, okay?” she entreated. “I'm all right. I'm perfectly fine. You, though, you probably need to get your hand taken care of.”

My rational mind. If I had been listening to it instead of the siren song of the Need all along, I never would have been meeting her in secret in the first place. I knew perfectly well pursuing my extreme sexual fantasies was a mistake.

Time to own that mistake.

She had taken the clips out of her hair and I allowed myself one last caress, brushing her bangs off her forehead. “I think you may be in shock,” I said, trying to sound as calm and authoritative as possible. “At the very least, you're probably experiencing some intense after-scene effects. Drop in blood pressure, chill…”

Gwen rubbed the burn on her cheek with her fingers as if to prove it didn't hurt. “I'm going to be fine.”

“Come get in bed,” I said, trying not to sound gruff but failing. I drew back the covers for her.