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A light touch on my left arm makes me squeak and jerk in my bonds. “You ought to be afraid.”
I can almost see him, a blackness darker than the closed-off room. I slept in here last night and didn’t think it was too dark. Maybe it’s just his presence that makes the darkness more sinister. His voice is the same, still soft and tender like Charlie’s. But I have the feeling that if I could see his eyes, they’d be cold and stark and empty again.
“What do you want?”
“Red. I want you to sayred.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “Red. There. Can you please fuck me now?”
He unzips his jeans and the sound revs my body to full-speed arousal. I moan, relieved that I gave him what he’s been waiting for. Now he’ll thrust inside me, cover me with his weight, his strength, and hold me through the night. The dark won’t bother me then.
“It’s not enough, Ranay.”
His voice echoes with sorrow, tinged with an aching emotion that brings tears to my eyes. I know what that feels like. To never be enough. Never have enough. To feel like a damned freak because of that need.
The soft rustle tells me he’s taking off his clothes. I can imagine the lean lines of his chest against me, the hot velvet of his skin, that tantalizing cold metal pressed against my breast while he moves above me. I never thought about getting a piercing before, but now I want one in both of my nipples. It’d give him something else to tug and torture me with.
“I need you to mean it.”
“I mean it,” I protest, arching my back, though he probably can’t see the invitation of my lifted breasts. “I want you. I need you. Now. Please.”
“No.” His weight makes the bed dip. His body brushes against my leg as he settles on the mattress between my knees. But he doesn’t touch me. “I need you to mean it.”
He repeats it like I ought to know what he means, but with him so close, I can’t concentrate. I strain against the bonds enough to brush my thigh against his, but I can’t get him to come closer. Not like this. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He closes his hands on my knees and pushes my legs down, taking the strain off my joints. Those big, powerful palms knead my quadriceps, grinding his fingertips deep into the tissue to melt the soreness away. I moan, shifting again, trying to get more of his body against me.
His hands work up my thighs. His breath flutters against my skin and I gasp, arching up again. Early on, I had all kinds of fantasies about his mouth and all the wicked things he’d do to me while he had me tied up. But now that I’ve gotten a taste of the real Master he keeps locked away, this doesn’t seem right.
It isn’thim.
“I said I wasn’t going to stop,” he whispers against my inner thigh. His tongue flutters out in a light caress to taste my skin. “I said I was going to be rough.”
I don’t think I can get any more aroused. My pussy is open and aching, bared to him, greedy and ready for anything he wants to give me. “And violent.”
“Yes.” He runs his tongue up the crease of my other thigh. “Is this rough and violent to you, Ranay?”
“No,” I moan, shifting my hips to get his mouth to move over a little. An inch or two. That would do the trick. And I’d go sailing off into the clouds again.
His teeth sink into my inner thigh. Hard, deep, sucking the wind right out of my lungs in a rush of pain. I howl with surprise. I can’t help it. He bites me harder, digging his teeth deep into the muscle, so deep I’m sure he broke the skin. He jerks his head, pulling back like he’s going to rip a hunk out of me.
I scream again, jerking frantically against the chains, bucking against the mattress. Even when he releases me and lifts his head, I can’t stop fighting. It takes me a few moments to calm down, to realize the pain ceased. In fact, he licks the marks he probably left in my skin, turning the pain to a caress.
“I didn’t break the skin,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against my opposite thigh. The rasp of his stubbled cheek provides another sensation. Far from pain, but it makes my nerves jingle anyway. I can all too easily imagine those short whiskers abrading my inner lips if he’d only put his mouth where I want it. “Yet.”
He’s going to bite me so hard I bleed.
My thigh jumps helplessly in response.
Will he still lick the bite? The blood?
I’ve never played with bloodletting either. I’ve heard whispers, sure, that some people are into that kink. It’s something to titillate those of us who titillated the normal people. Cutting, knife play and blood. They go hand in hand.
No wonder he’s been out of the scene for years. Why he thinks he’s too dangerous for me. For anyone, but especially me.
He bites the opposite thigh, already sensitized by his bristled jaw. My breath rushes out again, but I don’t scream. This time he’s high enough I can feel the softness of his curls against my swollen lips, an unexpected caress in the midst of the pain. I rock my hips, trying to break the bite so I can put his mouth to better use, but he doesn’t budge.
Just as he pinched my breast so firmly, knowing exactly how to twist to maximize the pain, he applies more pressure. Searing pain throbs deep into the muscle. Panic begins to set in, my brain shuddering with images of blood and tearing flesh. Not sexy. Dangerous. Violent. Terrifying.
