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~ Darren ~
Present
Istare at the asswipe lying on the floor clutching his leg where the bullet went in, blood seeping past his fingers. Grabbing his shirt, I pull him up enough so that he can look me in the eyes.
“Did I say you could touch her?” I demand.
“No, sir, no you didn’t,” he answers through clenched teeth.
I release his shirt. I don’t want his blood getting on my Ferragamos or my dark-wash Stefano Ricci jeans. For a second, I contemplate shooting him in the balls. No one touches Bridge except me. Instead, I hand the gun back to Marshall.
“Get the son of a bitch out of here,” I instruct.
Other members of my family would have killed for less, which makes me briefly question my fortitude, but I have more pressing things to consider. Squaring my shoulders, I go back inside the room where Bridge is tied to a thick reinforced pipe overhead. The roofie Josh slipped into her drink had worked well, knocking her out for the entire flight between Denver and California.
She senses my presence. I can see the tension in her body. My body, too, reacts. More than two years and I’m not any less immune to her.
Fuck.
I rake my gaze over her body. She looks as good as the last time I saw her, though I like her natural hair color better. I remember every curve, every inch. I know exactly how her skin will feel when I caress it. I know the sound she’ll make when I fondle her clit. I know how hot her pussy will get when I sink my cock into her.
When I close my eyes, I can see the last time we played. It was at The Lotus. I had her tied in face-up horizontal suspension, her body mine to use as I pounded away into her cunt. In a short amount of time, she had developed a relatively high pain tolerance for rough fucking.
With her ankles and wrists shackled, spread-eagled, to either ends of a wooden beam hung from the ceiling, her most private parts were exposed and at my mercy. I’d paused to play with her clit, which I had pumped earlier till it swelled red and plump. Her head fell back, and she trembled.
“Look at me,” I commanded.
Her gaze met mine, and I could see in her eyes the conflict between desire and fear of overwhelm. I fondled her clit a little harder while I sank my cock deeper. She started to writhe.
“Stay still,” I ordered, pulling and pinching a nipple when she still squirmed.
Through her ball gag, she mumbled what sounded like, “I’m trying to.”
For several minutes, I worked her clit and thrust into her wet heat while she tried to contain her trembling and straining as well as her growing need to come. She pleaded with her eyes for permission, then whimpered when I stopped caressing her clit to grab her thighs with both hands. I shoved myself into her, slowly so her body had time to swing back toward me. When my own needs became too hard to resist, I quickened my pace. Perspiration fell onto her mound. She didn’t take her gaze off me, and looking into the brightness of her eyes is what sent me over the edge.
After the peak of my ecstasy had passed, I agitated her clit while my cock still throbbed hard inside of her.
“Please, may I come?” she asked.
I had heard her ask enough times to know that’s what she said, even with the ball gag stuffed between her lips.
“Come,” I answered.
She spasmed on my fading erection, shaking and bucking in the air. She cried against the gag, her lips parted wide, her brow intensely furrowed. I loved watching, hearing and feeling her come. In that moment, it was all I ever wanted in life: to give her pleasure. I wanted to give her anything and everything she wanted. I wanted to give her the world.
But that was then.
It’s different now.
