Fight Me, Fuck Me
I know that Brody is just upstairs, but it doesn’t matter. I’m alone in here. In the dark.
The room isn’t soundproofed, but it might as well be. I can hear nothing except my own breathing, which is growing more and more rapid the longer I lay here, tied down on this bed, unable to move, unable to do anything except remember—and hope beyond hope that Dallas is coming.
I’d thought this was a good idea. That by laying myself out like this he might finally, hopefully, understand that’s what I truly am to him. An offering. I’m offering myself up to him. My hopes, my dreams, my body, my life. I’m his, and he’s mine, and I just want him to finally get that. To embrace it. To love me so fully and completely that we go with each other as far as we can and need, no barriers, no qualms, no fears.
That’s my dream—and I want it so badly it’s palpable. But right now, that dream is shifting and moving. It’s twisting. Knotting up inside me.
It’s becoming a goddamn nightmare, and that is something that I didn’t expect when I’d committed to this crazy plan.
Mentally, I know that I only have to scream and Brody will come release me. But emotionally I’m sliding back through the years. I’m in a dark room. I’m tied down.
I’m fifteen again, and I’m terrified.
Terrified that I will never get out of this place. That she will leave me here to starve. That she will never take me back to Dallas.
That Dallas will never find me here in the dark. That he is gone from me for good.
That he won’t come for me.
That he won’t forgive me for pushing him.
That I’ll be bound here forever. Trapped here forever. Lost in this place between then and now.
This was a mistake, I think, as the tempo of my heart increases. I should never have let Brody tie me up. I should never have surrendered control. This was supposed to be about Dallas, but right now—like this—I don’t know if I can take it anymore. The fears. The memories.
I feel like ants are crawling on me. Like the dark is turning red. And though I struggle against the bonds, I can’t loosen them. On the contrary, everything is tightening. My wrists, my ankles. And I finally can’t take any more of it and I open my mouth to shout for Brody—only it’s Dallas’s name that comes off my lips when I hear the door crash open. And it’s Dallas’s face that I see when the blindfold is ripped off my face.
Dallas, looking scared to death and pissed as hell.
Dallas froze in the doorway, tossed back seventeen years as he saw the terror reflected on her beautiful face. Then he rushed to her and ripped off that damn blindfold.
“Jane,” he cried. “Jesus, Jane, who did this to you?”
“Dallas.” Tears streamed down her face. “I—I got mixed up. It felt like I was back then, and I was afraid you wouldn’t come to me. That they wouldn’t let you come to me.”
“I will always come for you, baby.” He pulled off his T-shirt and covered her with it, certain she must be cold. “But you have to tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”
She was breathing better now. The wildness in her eyes fading. She turned her head to meet his eyes. “You did.”
The words hit him like a slap. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You pushed away from me, Dallas. I had to get you back.”
He shoved back off the bed, her words like a blow. “Oh, Jesus, Jane. Christ. You were terrified when I came through that door. And now you’re telling me there’s no one else. This is all on you?”
She didn’t say anything, but he saw the truth in her eyes. And damned if he wasn’t sure if he was incredibly relieved or entirely pissed off.
Either way, he pulled out his phone, then dialed Liam. “You can stand down. We were right. There’s no perp.”
“Glad to hear it. Give her a hug for me.”
“After I spank the shit out of her, I just might do that.”
He heard Liam’s chuckle before the line went dead, then he pocketed his phone and strode to the head of the bed and unfastened the ropes that held her wrists before repeating the process with her ankles.
She sat up, the cuffs still around her wrists, the ropes still dangling from them. The T-shirt was pooled in her lap, and her bare breasts combined with the restraints spread around her on the bed made a damned enticing picture. And despite the fact that he was pissed as hell, he felt his body tighten with desire. For Jane—always for Jane—but also for the idea of Jane here. In this room. This sensual playroom that she’d put together for him, but that they’d never once used.
He pushed it aside.
Enticing or not, he was too damn angry. “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, pacing beside the bed.
She watched him, her head moving as she followed him. “What was I thinking? Maybe that I didn’t know how to get through to you? That the only way to get you to actually listen and to hear me and not just run away because you think you’ve freaked me out, is to prove to you that it’s okay.”
“Okay?” he repeated, glancing around the room as he remembered the way he’d hurt her after he’d awakened inside her. “This is okay? You tied up? Me using you? Me taking you however the fuck I want? Me losing control because I’m too fucked up to hold back? Possibly hurting you? Probably scaring you? Is that what you’re saying is okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered, rising up on her knees and holding out her hands for him. “But say the rest of it. Say what it is you’re afraid of.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not having you play shrink, Jane. Not happening.”
“Fine. Then I’ll say it. It’s more than just possibly hurting me—and guess what, I don’t care. And it’s more than just possibly scaring me, because you won’t. But none of that really matters, because that’s not what’s really scaring you.”
He swallowed, wanting to argue. To back away. But he didn’t. Because, dammit, she was right.
“What you’re really afraid of is that if you scare me—if you hurt me—that you’re going to lose me.” She rose up and got off the bed, trailing bondage ropes as she moved to stand in front of him, naked now that the T-shirt had fallen to the floor. “Well, you won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
She didn’t argue—he had to give her credit for that. Instead, she just reached out and slapped him hard across the face.
“What the fuck?”
“I don’t know that?” she countered. “The hell I don’t. And if you don’t believe me, then fucking let me prove it to you. Take me, Dallas. Use me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I brought you here.”
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“So you say,” she taunted. She rose up onto her toes, all defiance and heat and so intense it made him want to lay her out and fuck her blind. “Show me.”
And goddammit, he broke. He shouldn’t. He should just walk away. But even as he told himself that, he was yanking her back to the bed. Positioning her on her knees. There was a hook extending from the ceiling at just the right height—the handiwork of her friend Brody, no doubt—and he lifted her wrists and slid the buckles of the cuffs over the hooks so that she was on her knees, her torso stretched tall. He considered spreading her legs and strapping her ankles to the sides of the bed, but decided against it. He wanted her somewhat mobile.
He reached down for the blindfold that he’d ripped away, then put it back over her eyes. He saw the way she bit her lower lip, but dammit, he wasn’t showing her mercy. Not now. Not when she’d pushed him this far to take what he wanted.
And he was going to, dammit. He was going to take and keep taking, because if she ran the way he thought she would, he at least wanted this last memory to cling to.
“Dallas,” she whispered, but he just pressed his finger to her lips. “No talking unless I say you can. Nod if you understand.” She nodded, and he gave the chain that connected the nipple clamps a quick, sharp tug, making her cry out.
Good.
He slid off the bed and circled the room, glancing at the various items on display. He selected a small glass butt plug, some lube, and a leather flail. Then he returned to the bed and slid his hand between her legs. She was wet, and some of his fear and anger slipped away, pushed aside by his increasing desire and, yes, by hope.
He turned her around, then slid his finger from her cunt to her ass, teasing her and eliciting all sorts of soft sounds that made her moan. Then he lubed up the plug and, without telling her what he intended to do, spread her cheeks and slid it in, using one hand to manipulate the plug, and reaching around with the other to tug on the chain, tightening the pressure on her tits as he teased her ass.
She gasped, then moaned. And then, god help him, she squirmed in pleasure and when he slipped his fingers inside her cunt and softly stroked her clit, she exploded around him, her muscles clenching around his fingers as a powerful orgasm rocked through her.
He kept his fingers inside her, but with his other hand he reached down to stroke his cock. He was rock hard, thrilled at how responsive she was. At how much she wanted it—everything he did to her. And he could do so much more. He looked around the room. The chains and hooks on the wall. The leather flails and crops and whips. All sorts of toys and devices, from relatively tame to incredibly intense.
He’d wanted that when he’d first released her—when he’d realized the way that she was pushing him. He’d wanted to push back. To lay marks across her back as he whipped her. To clamp her clit and watch as she writhed, working first through pain and then off into pleasure, totally at his mercy. Completely under his control.
He still wanted it—and so much more. But only when she was ready. And, yes, he believed that she would go there with him. But not as punishment. Not as a way to prove a point. But as an exploration. He’d take her down with him—damned if she hadn’t convinced him.
Right now, though, he just wanted to give her pleasure. And, yes, he wanted to take his pleasure with her.
Slowly, he stripped. Then, naked, he got up on the bed and released her from the hook. Then he put her hands behind her and fastened the cuffs together before taking her by the hair and guiding her mouth to his cock. He wanted to be close to exploding when he fucked her—because, dammit, he was going to be inside her.
She took him deeply, eagerly, and he closed his eyes, his hand on her hair guiding her as his mind drifted back to another room like this one. Another woman’s mouth on him. He’d fantasized about Jane then, and hated himself for it. Hated that the Woman was mixing Jane up in her vile game. But now that it was real—Christ, he wanted it. Wanted everything he could take from her. Everything she could give.
And as she gave, he felt the nightmarish memory slip away, losing power to the new reality. A reality he wanted. Craved. A reality that he controlled.
“Baby,” he said as his body tightened. As he came just to the edge. But he couldn’t go over. That much, he hadn’t gotten back. For that matter, he didn’t want it. He wanted to be inside her, and he roughly pushed her off him, then turned her over.
Her hands were still behind her, so that she was on her shoulders, her ass in the air as he thrust hard inside her, the pressure from the plug making her even tighter, and adding to her own pleasure when he pushed hard against her, his body pounding into her as he thrust deeper and deeper, wanting everything, wanting the explosion.
Harder and faster. And he hadn’t lost it. He was inside her, fucking her, and damned if it wasn’t incredible. Damned if he didn’t feel like he could last forever.
Again and again they moved together, his erection never waning, his desire rising and rising. And although she was taking all of it—all of him—he still couldn’t climax. He was right there on the edge, but he still couldn’t fucking explode.
He pulled out of her, then rolled her over, his cock in one hand as he used the other to pull off her blindfold. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to look into her eyes as he jerked off. As he came on her belly, her cunt. He wanted to cherish the way she moaned. The light that cut through her as he shattered in front of her.
He wanted to drown in the pleasure that he could see was so goddamn genuine.
“How?” he asked when the tremors of his orgasm faded. “How can I need you so much?”
Her mouth curved. “The same way that I need you.”
“Oh, baby.” He was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Slowly, he moved beside her, then unclipped her wrists. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She sat up, looking alarmed, and he laughed, then kissed her. “No, not for this. I’m not sorry for this at all. Although I am a little bit sorry that I held back. You could go with me a lot further.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
“One day,” he promised, and was rewarded with her very genuine-sounding sigh of pleasure.
“So what are you sorry for?”
“For not believing you. Not trusting you to know your own limits.”
She propped herself up on her elbow. “Just like secrets, Dallas. You have to trust I know what I can handle. What I want.”
He nodded. What could he say? She was right.
She curled up against him and sighed. “You do know what I want, don’t you?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“You,” she said simply.
He felt the smile touch his lips. “Baby, I’m already yours.”