Row
My mind is moving both too fast and too slow. I do a couple yoga breaths to start thinking clearly. There is a way out of this for me and my father. I just need to calm down and find it.
My fear subsides with the deep breaths. I really don’t think I’m in imminent danger. But my thoughts are still cloudy. I realize the feeling that’s turning my brain to soup isn’t fear or confusion.
It’s lust.
God. What the heck. I stopped trying to mold myself into normality a long time ago. I was always different. The girl with the weirdo father. Smart in all the wrong ways. Always at the museum or library, wrapped up in some ancient riddle.
But this seems beyond abnormal. This man has me tied up and at his complete whim. And I still want him. I can still taste his mouth from our kiss at the bar. I can feel his hands on me. So strong and rough. He’s graceful, but not gentle. The thought strikes through me like lightning. I don’t think I like gentle.
I tug the tiniest little bit on the rope on my wrist. I can feel it tighten just a bit, its rough texture bites against my skin. I let out a gasp. I can feel the roughness everywhere. Like its sending electric currents all along my skin.
I think about Jones in the shower. I refuse to call him Dwight. I know that’s not his first name. Nothing about this man says Dwight to me. His last name probably isn’t Jones either. But what else am I supposed to call him when I’m thinking about hot streams of water sluicing down his cut body?
I can feel the lust clouding my thoughts again and I realize I have to do something about this. I have to get out from under how turned on I am. Then I’ll be able to think more clearly. I know what I have to do.
I lift one of my legs and let my dress fall away. I drag my free hand up my thigh and immediately find my center. Wow. I’m really turned on. I’m ridiculously wet and ready. I can be really quick about this. And then afterwards, I’ll be clearer. I’ll be able to figure out how to get the hell out of here.
I press my fingers into myself and it’s almost like I’ve flipped a switch. I’m back in the bar, one leg thrown over his lap. His hand is tight on my neck as his blue eyes bore into mine.
On the bed, my hips are rising of their own accord, and I can hear my quiet breaths come out in pants.
In my head, he’s shoving me face down on the leather of the booth. His lips are at my ear as his weight constricts me.
“Stay quiet,” he tells me, one hand still on my neck. “If you make anyone turn around, you’re gonna get punished.”
I glance around at the bar and see the other patrons are talking with one another, drinking their drinks, gazing at nothing. I realize that he means that he’s gonna fuck me right here, with no one noticing.
I nod to tell him I understand and the next thing I know, my dress is being shoved up my legs. I feel his warmth, the scratch of his clothes followed by his warm skin. Something hard is pressing against my wet opening. And then he’s inside.
In reality, my own hand is flinging me toward ecstasy, but it’s not quite enough. What I need is the real thing. But I can’t have it. I have to take what I can get.
So I force my mind back to the bar, where he’s got me facedown, and he’s pumping into me, one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
I’m close. I’m so close. I can feel the leather of the booth on my cheek, the weight of him over top of me. His breath at my ear. His hand over my mouth.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
My eyes fly open and I freeze. I’m back to reality. And he’s there. Standing in the bathroom doorway, the towel around his waist. Water drips down over his chest. And he’s staring at me. His eyes heat me up, pull me toward him. Even from across the room, it’s like I’m falling into them.
“Answer me.” His deep voice cracks like a whip.
I shake my head no. He didn’t tell me that I could do that. And for some reason, it makes a flood of wetness seep out onto my fingers, still firmly in place at my core.
He leans against the door jam, deceptively relaxed. He surveys me like a jungle cat as my hips rise a tiny bit, of their own accord. My blood is still pumping through me. My heart racing. Images of him holding me down at the bar slide over top of images of him in real life, damp from the shower and watching me.
“Take your hand away,” he growls and I can’t help but whimper as I follow directions. I need release so badly, and his orders only turn me on more.
He chuckles humorlessly. “Poor baby,” he says. “You need to come, don’t you?”
At this point, I am beyond caring that I’m completely at his whim. I’m adrift in a sea of uncertainties right now, my life has been completely tossed out to sea. And in a weird way, he’s the only thing tethering me to land. He’s my only lifeline.
“I need to come,” I whisper and his eyes go darker, the sky at midnight. One of his hands opens and closes at his side. At this point, it’s very clear that I’m not going to be allowed to come unless he says it’s ok. So I go for broke. “I need you.”
It’s like something snaps. His eyes flare at my words, and he’s done reclining against the wall. He’s standing, his arms crossed aggressively over his chest. His biceps bulge and I’m struck again at how big he is. He’s lithe and trim, but he’s also fucking built. The towel is draped over his hips and reveals above it the perfect V of muscles at the bottom of his stomach. A light dusting of hair covers his chest and trails downwards. And his shoulders. Good sweet Cleopatra, his shoulders. I feel another wave of wetness gush through me.
I can see that my words have affected him.
“I can make you come right now. But you better realize something. This isn’t going to be some Romeo bullshit.” He’s calm. Deadly calm. “This isn’t some chick flick drag-a-rose-down-your-delicate-body kind of sex.” He takes a step toward me and my hips lift again, like I’m being drawn toward him. “I’m going to fuck you, Row.” I can’t help but let out a heavy breath at his words. “And you’re gonna like it. In fact, you’re gonna beg for more.”
“Is that an order?” I ask quietly, barely recognizing my own trembling voice.
He shrugs, tossing his towel aside and walking toward me. “It’s a fact.”
I can’t help but moan again as I watch him stalk toward me. My eyes have traveled all the way down his body and are just stuck on one particular part of his anatomy. Good Lord. Good God. Good all the gods. I’ve never seen a more perfect cock in my entire life. It’s hard and straining and huge as hell. I can’t take my eyes away.
And then he’s standing over me. I’m just inches away from him, but he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he deftly undoes the knot that’s holding my wrist to the headboard. He lowers my arm and quickly rubs out my shoulder, my wrist. It’s not a gentle touch. Not a lover’s touch. It’s utilitarian, rough. Then my arm is back over my head, along with the other one. And he trusses me up, both hands tied together to the headboard. I automatically grip the bars and he smiles. Like the sight pleases him.
Next, he steps back and looks at me. He grips the bottom of my dress and pulls it up, over my head and over my arms. He tosses it up, over the headboard and then steps back again.
I can see the heat flare in his eyes as he takes in my red lace bra and panties, the gun strapped to my thigh.
“Now why would an archaeologist wear lace panties?” he asks me, his head cocked to one side.
“I like the way it feels,” I mutter. “Against my skin.”
He nods, and continues to stare at me. I need him to touch me so badly. But he’s not. He’s just looking.
“Spread,” he says, his voice a rigid command.
I plant my heels on the bed and let my knees fall open. He studies me, his head cocked to one side.
“For someone who says she doesn’t want to be here, you’re very wet, Row.”
I nod. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. “I need you,” I say again.
I watch as his dick jumps and his eyes darken further. It seems I’ve hit a button. It’s the second time I’ve said that and the second time I’ve seen it elicit a reaction from him. I file that information away.
He cocks his head to one side and just looks at me. “Have you done this before?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Been tied to a bed by a potential kidnapper?”
His eyes darken, and I can’t tell if it’s from anger or lust. “Has a man touched you before?”
There’s something dark in his voice. Something deep.
“Because trust me, Row, what’s about to happen here is not for a virgin.”
Brain.
Dead.
Sorry, thoughts, we had a good run. But it’s my body’s turn to take over. Maybe it would be smarter to come up with some lie. Some strategy. He knows so much that I need to start hiding anything that I can. But he’s short-circuiting me. His words, his presence. All I can do is just go with the truth.
“I’ve been with men… a few times.” I can barely get the words out over the wave of lust for him that I’m currently riding.
“How many,” he spits out the words.
I’m not sure if he means men or times, so I answer everything. I’m so anxious to have him touch me right now I’d tell him my social security number. Though, he probably already knows it, being as he hunted me down.
“I-I’ve slept with two men. I had sex with each of them once.”
Something like satisfaction flashes over his face and he uncrosses his arms. I automatically brace myself. Something is about to happen.
“No, you didn’t,” he says and stares me in the eyes. I feel that magnet feeling again. The one where he’s gravity and I’m every object on the earth. “Those men don’t fucking exist.”
Well, technically they do, I hadn’t been lying to him. But I snap my mouth closed when he takes a step toward me.
Finally. He’s coming closer to me.
“Those men never existed. Only I exist for you. You hear me?”
I quickly nod, twisting my legs together against the passion that is rising within me. A look of satisfaction crosses over his face, and he takes another step forward. Yes. Just a little bit closer, then maybe I’ll get some relief. My thighs press together.
He kneels on the bed. Between my legs. He’s crouched like a jungle cat. His eyes flash in the dark and every single muscle in my body clenches, tightens, screams for release.
“Where have you been touched?” he asks. The question is strange, unexpected. But his tone of voice makes it familiar. He’s commanding me. Owning me. Somehow, it’s not a question, it’s a demand for information. Information that he already owns because he owns me.
I move my hands to show him where, but they’re lashed to the headboard. I look up at him helplessly.
“Use your words, professor,” he says, a cocky grin spreading across his face. I want to hate the arrogant bastard, but his surety only makes me want him more.
“My breasts,” I whisper, barely recognizing my voice through the need that’s twisting my breath.
His eyes drag me toward him, and I find my hips lifting of their own accord. Suddenly he rears up over me. He’s boxing me in, but he’s not touching me. Half of me wants to wiggle into him. To finally touch him again. But the other half of me feels pinned in place, like I can’t move without him telling me to.
His eyes hold mine as he bends down, my breath catches in my throat. In a flash, he takes one of my nipples and rakes his teeth over it. And then the other. I cry out from the sudden kiss of pain, but mostly from the intense relief of being touched. His warm tongue soothes the hurt on one breast and then the other before he nips again, leaving me tingling. And so wet I can feel it dripping down my thighs.
He comes back on all fours over top of me. His face only a few inches from mine. “Now, mine is the only touch you’ll remember there. I’m the only one.”
He’s not wrong. In the wake of his electricity, the sterile, fumbling touches of my past hookups dissolve instantly into the past.
“Where else,” he demands.
“My sides,” I gasp. And then I gasp again when he takes his rough hands and rakes them down my sides, erasing any touch memory I had before him. It’s as if he’s the only one who’s touched me there.
“Where else,” he growls.
“I- I can’t think,” I moan, my mind is a racing blank, I can barely hear past the thrumming in my ears. The hum of my blood.
He rears up and takes me by the chin, his hand like a commanding vice, holding me in place. I stare into the blazing fire of his eyes. “Tell me.”
“My mouth,” I blurt out, and as he begins to lower his mouth down to mine, more tumbles out of me. “My pussy.”
He freezes, a breath away from my mouth. Then, in a flash, instead of his lips touching mine, as I expected, his finger dips in between my lips. My tongue automatically greets it, swirling and sucking. His eyes flash and he keeps his hand at my mouth, forcing more of his finger inside as the rest of him slides back down my body.
He shoulders my thighs apart from one another, spreading me open. I tense. This is an actual first for me. No one has ever really explored me there. And definitely not with a mouth.
“I’ve never-never,” I stutter, shifting my hips, not actively trying to close my thighs, but not quite sure what I should do next.
His eyes are twin points of blue in the glinting dark. “Never?” he asks, his voice sinister.
I shake my head.
“Who the fuck were these schmucks?” he mutters. And then he doesn’t speak anymore. Because he puts his head down and devours my pussy.
The second his warm tongue drags through my wetness my entire back arches off the mattress. He uses his free arm to slam my hips back down, anchoring me. His other hand pushes his finger into my mouth and then back out. In and then back out. Meanwhile his tongue slides through me, lazily, thickly, like he’s trying to touch as much of me as he possibly can all at once.
I’m soaring, my body rising and racing and swirling all at once. I’ve never in my life felt anything like this. There’s a soft brutality to his tongue as he circles in on my clit, no longer lapping at me but driving me, manipulating my body toward perfect pleasure. I want to come. Of course. But I also just want to feel this feeling every second for the rest of my waking life. I’ve never felt so delicious.
But then, an entire flower garden blooms inside me all at once, and I’m exploding into light and heat. Nothing exists but his mouth on my clit. My hands squeeze the headboard like a lifeline while my body damn near takes flight off the mattress. I’m soaring. Soaring.
And then I’m drifting back to earth like a feather in the breeze, my body going limp. My breath races through me. My heart beats so fast I can feel it in my toes.
“Holy God,” I mutter, my eyes trying to flutter open and slam closed at the same time.
“You’re sensitive,” he says against me, punctuating each word with another, less intense, lick through my pussy. “Quickdraw.” I can feel him smiling against me. And already his mouth is taking me back up.
But his momentary sweetness is gone the next second as he rears up over me again. And my body is back and awake. He’s caging me in. Eyeing me like I’m dinner. He drags both hands over my cheeks, down my neck, and to my breasts. He uses his thumbs to roughly draw my nipples to a standing attention before he continues down my belly. He kneels back on his heels as one of his hands finds my center, presses into my pussy.
“I’m erasing those men from history. Do you hear me, Row?” he asks, pressing his finger in and out of me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“They don’t exist anymore. And even when they did, even when they touched you, that was just me touching you before we met.”
He drags his thumb over my clit and my chest heaves as I’m drawn back up. Spiraling toward a destination I desperately want to be again.
“That was before you were ready for me. Because what I do isn’t fit for virgins, Row.” His words captivate me. Draw me in. I feel hypnotized. “You needed some limp-dick white-bread stock broker or whatever-the-fuck to introduce you to the world of touching. Because I’m not a tour guide, Row. I’m not here to go gentle. Or hold your hand. I’m here to drive you insane. Make you crazy. Make you beg.”
“Please,” I moan as he pulls his hand away, out of me. He’s taking it away, and I can’t stand it. I need him. I need him.
“Nobody has touched you here but me, Row. Only me.” He rakes his hands over my breasts, making me gasp. But I barely have a chance to regain my breath when he grips my hips and flips me over. The ropes around my hands are long enough to allow me to twist and flip over, but not really to support myself. My elbows come down next to my ears and my cheek goes to the pillow. I’m flat on my stomach but not for long. He grips me by the hips again and hauls me up to my knees. I’ve never been like this in front of anyone before. I know I should feel some sort of trepidation or embarrassment, but I don’t. All I feel is an ache. An ache for him to fill me.
He inserts a knee between my legs and tries to spread my legs even further. I have to shift my weight to accommodate that, but he takes it for hesitation. A sharp slap against my ass has me arching my back and screaming. The pain zips through my veins, straight to my clit and the scream ends on a moan. Remind me to hesitate more often.
“Don’t you dare deny me, Row,” he growls. “Give it to me.”
I regain my balance and spread for him, as wide as my legs will let me. They shake with the effort for only a second before one of his arms loops around my waist and supports me. I hear the crinkle of a condom being opened, feel him press against me. His cock is opening me wide, stretching me, as he feeds just the tip into me. I brace, but am completely shocked and thrilled when his other hand tangles in my hair and yanks, just enough to give me that shock of pain again, to pull my head up off the mattress.
And with that, he gives me everything. Pushing his way into me. Invading me. Slamming me into the most potent pleasure of my entire existence.
“Fuck,” he grinds out. It sounds like his teeth are clenched. But I don’t have long to dwell on it before he’s pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. It doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm and-holy God Jesus in heaven-what a rhythm it is.
I’m flinging over the cliff of orgasm before I even realize one was building. He untangles his hand from my hair, and pushes my head onto the mattress with the flat of his hand. Gentle but firm. And then one of his fingers is back in my mouth. Fucking my mouth in the same rhythm that his cock fucks my pussy.
I’ve never felt so controlled in my life. But there’s freedom in it. There’s no room for questioning or self doubt. And as his strokes become sharper, less rhythmic, I can feel him losing himself in me. He’s the one who’s overcome now, his skin slapping against mine. His breath ragged and choppy.
“Fuck,” he says again as he falls over my back, not crushing me, just pressing against me, his chest to my back. I can feel his heartbeat against my ribs. His mouth is at my ear then. Biting the sensitive lobe. He ruts me like an animal. Pushing deeper with every stroke.
“They never touched you,” he growls in my ear. His words becoming choppy. “I touch you. Even in your memories, it’s mine. This is me touching you everywhere.”
Another orgasm racks my body before I even know it was coming. I feel my pussy clamp down on him like a vice, and he groans like he’s in pain.
“Say my name,” he says in my ear. “My real name. I know you figured it out. Say it.”
“Kennedy.” I remember his slip from earlier. When he revealed it to me by accident. “Kennedy.”
And then his teeth clamp onto my shoulder in an inexorable grip. And his body pulls tight in ecstasy as he lets go inside of me.