Body Language: The Boot Knockers, Book 2 (10 page)

Chapter Eight

The moment Damian opened the door to Bungalow 11 he was presented with the prettiest picture he’d ever seen. Ruthie seated at the small table, sexy as hell in a midnight blue top and tan shorts, hair falling over her eyes.

As he closed the door, she looked up and gave him a grin that made his heart soar.

“Wanna play Scrabble?”

His heart plummeted. Pulse throbbing in his temples, he took in the game board already set up before her.
Hell no, I don’t wanna play Scrabble.
He’d said similar things to every teacher he’d ever had. But not Ruthie.

Any game dealing with words was a red-hot poker thrust through the chest of a man who couldn’t read.

He cringed inwardly but tried to remain calm on the surface. “I had other games in mind, doll.”

Her eyes glazed over. “But it’s raining. It’s a good inside activity.”

He doffed his hat and came forward slowly, making her squirm with every step. Good—he turned her on. He wasn’t pretending every letter on those tiles didn’t look like a hieroglyphic. He wasn’t pretending with Ruthie.

Light streamed in through a nearby window, illuminating her perfect skin. Today she’d used mascara and lip gloss. Her lashes were a mile long, her lips so kissable he couldn’t resist.

Swooping in, he crushed his lips over hers. The strawberry gloss scent filled his head. With a rumble of appreciation he swiped his tongue over her lower lip. She encircled his neck with her arms and melted into him.

Pressure built in his groin. He half-lifted her from her chair, swiped an arm over the table, clearing it of those tormenting letter tiles, and spread her on the surface.

She burst into laughter, and he kissed her open mouth. Delving his tongue into her sweetness, swirling, lapping, teasing. He caught her knee and pressed it up and back so he could grind his erection into her pussy.

“Damian…”

“Baby, I can’t wait. I want you here. Now.”

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes gleaming. She fumbled in his back pocket and came out with his wallet. His breathing grew labored. “Take it out.”

She opened his wallet and pulled out one of three condoms he’d stuffed inside this morning. Even knowing the bungalow was well-stocked, he’d packed his wallet with as many rubbers as possible. He didn’t want an excuse not to use one—though he craved that intense heat of being bare inside her.

Moving back, he stripped her top off and tossed it to the floor. Today she wore one of the bras he’d given her from the wardrobe closet—white with dainty pink hearts. He growled and dipped his head, biting into her nipple through the cloth while tearing at her shorts and panties.

After he pulled the matching thong off her bare feet, he wadded it up and stuffed it in her mouth. Her eyes flared in shock.

His voice was ragged. “You look sexy as hell.” With wild tugs, he shed his clothes while holding her gaze. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes losing a bit of her shock. By the time he had the condom in place, he was ready to explode.

Leaning over her again, he nuzzled the corner of her mouth, stuffed full of her fragrant panties. “I’m going to make you scream and scream with pleasure, doll. But no one will be able to hear you.”

She made a sound. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to tie her up too.
Not yet. Slowly.

He scooped his hands under her, cushioning her spine against the table, and drove into her in one sharp move. She pulsed around him, gripping his back. For a mind-blowing minute he thought he could feel her heartbeat in his own veins.

Then he began to move. Plunging so deep she cried out behind the gag. He closed his eyes and skirted the edge of his own release, dying to go fast and hard yet forcing himself to go slow.

Her breaths came faster.

“Put your legs on my shoulders.”

“Uhhh.”

He met her dark eyes and couldn’t stop himself from sinking deep. When he pulled out to the tip, she placed her heels on his shoulders. Turning his head, he bit into her calf while taking her the way he wanted.

“Come for me, baby. I feel you squeezing me so…damn…tight.”

Her moan sounded like his name. He bent to her mouth and caught her thong in his teeth. With a jerk of his head, he tugged the silk free. She kissed him with a wildness that sent him careening toward ecstasy.

Reaching between them, he pinned her nubbin under his thumb. At the pressure, she came. Heat flooded him. His cock extended another fraction, then erupted. He sucked her tongue as he rode the uncharted waters of a release so big and intense, it scared the fuck out of him.

When he came back to himself, he found himself on the sofa with a naked Ruthie cradled on his lap. Her lips moved over his chest and up his neck, then down again. Tender kisses he didn’t deserve but wanted more than anything.

“Better than Scrabble,” she murmured.

He chuckled and clamped her against him. “So much better. Hungry?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly he was ravenous. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d fed her. Damn, he was becoming a bad guide, starving her while fucking her silly. He stamped a kiss to her mouth. “I’ll call for room service.”

“You can do that?”

“Yep. Here, let me up and I’ll grab my cell.”

“Mine’s right there on the arm of the sofa.” She went back to kissing his neck.

He grabbed her cell and swiped the screen—only to see a text with what he suspected was Andrew’s picture beside it.

Motherfucker.

Damian’s chest constricted. He punched in the number at the grub hall. One of the staff members answered on the first ring. “It’s Bungalow 11. We need some breakfast here.” He raised a brow at Ruthie, who nodded. “French toast, sausage?” Ruthie shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Make that bacon. And syrup, bring lots of syrup.” He waggled his brows, and she giggled. “A carafe of coffee will be fine. Thank you.”

He tossed the cell to the floor to get the mysterious Andrew as far from Ruthie as possible and lunged for her. As he latched onto the tip of her rounded breast, she sucked in a sharp breath. He trailed his fingers up and down her ribs until she collapsed with laughter.

Still, he couldn’t resist probing for more information. “Tell me the last man who did this to you.”

“No one. Ever.” She scraped her fingers over his unshaven jaw as he moved to her other breast.

“And do your boyfriends play Scrabble rather than give you amazing orgasms?” He ran a forefinger down her belly to her snatch. Her clit was plump and ready for him. As he circled it, she writhed.

“Y-yes.”

He watched her face as he pushed back the hood over her clit and found her slippery core. “All of them? Even Andrew?”

“He’s a…history teacher.”

Damn. Damian was so far out of his league with her. She deserved a scholarly type, someone to talk books and stimulate her mind. Damian couldn’t read as well as her third-graders. Depression was a hole in his gut.

Watching her mouth contort in shapes of bliss, a new kind of power settled over him. Sure, those guys could occupy her with games and books, but could they do this? Obviously not or she wouldn’t be here—with Damian.

“I have a confession to make,” he whispered as he strummed her hard nubbin.

“Ochhh. What’s that?” She bucked into his hand.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth—he was a twenty-six-year-old man who couldn’t read. They’d tried to teach him in prison, to no avail.

Leaning in, he nipped her bottom lip. She squeaked.

“I have a fetish for your pussy. For this.” He eased his fingers over her full outer lips. He dipped his fingers into her channel, then spread the fresh cream over her inner folds and up to her clit once again.

A shudder ripped through her.

A knock sounded, and he reared up. Grabbing a blanket off the sofa back, he threw it over her. “Don’t get up,” he said and stomped to the front door, bare-ass naked.

“What about you?” Ruthie’s voice was filled with mirth.

He tossed a look over his shoulder to ensure she’d taken his order. The last thing he wanted was someone to see her nude. She was his. “No one will care if I’m nekkid, believe me.”

He whipped open the door. Ty stood there, wearing a huge grin. He dropped his gaze to Damian’s junk then looked into his face. He thrust the tray at Damian. “No wonder you ordered bacon. You’ve already got lots of sausage.”

From the sofa, Ruthie released a peal of laughter. Ty leaned to the side to get a glimpse of her, and Damian moved with him, blocking her from view. “Thanks for the delivery.”

“Don’t I get a tip?” Ty pitched his voice low. “Maybe an invitation inside?”

Damian grabbed the door and started to slam it in his face. “Here’s your tip. Don’t piss into the wind.” He shut the door in Ty’s laughing face and turned to Ruthie to find her pink-faced with amusement.

When Damian laid out the food and set her in his lap to hand-feed her, he couldn’t help but hope that their time together would never be forgotten.

The rain hadn’t stopped. Damian gripped Ruthie’s hand and towed her at a dead run across the expanse of grass to the auditorium. He’d spent a good half hour explaining some of the things she’d see today. Her nerves jangled, but he’d assured her he would take care of her and if she was bothered at any point, they’d leave.

He’d called it a “Quick Release” party. Cowboys tying up the willing guests and pleasuring them through bondage, spankings and more. She thought of Damian gagging her with her own panties, and fresh juices squeezed from her pussy.

By the time they reached the auditorium, the cowgirl hat he’d given her was soaked, but at least her hair was dry. He pressed her inside the building before him. As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, she felt his arm encircle her chest. The solid warmth of his body made her shiver.

But so did the sight onstage.

Several benches and chairs were scattered under the spotlights. And a wooden cross-shaped unit stood in the center. Two cowboys wearing all black stood to the side, talking, and a group of women sat near their feet.

Ruthie went still. As if sensing her apprehension, Damian placed his mouth against her ear and breathed, “I’ve got you, doll.”

Her belly warmed at his words, and she allowed him to lead her down the incline to the auditorium seats. The rows were almost filled. It seemed the entire staff and every guest was here to watch.

With a strong hand on her back, Damian guided her to one of the front rows. When she sank into the plush seat, he flanked her. Then he looked across her and shot a dark look at the cowboy to her left.

Every hair on her body rose. Was that a warning glance? She studied Damian’s profile as he stared at the stage. At that moment, the show began.

The huge cowboy she remembered as Master of Games introduced the two cowboys, Quay and Stowe. Quay took the mic and made a joke, sending laughter through the crowd. And Stowe thrilled Ruthie with his Australian accent.

Damian rested his hand on her upper thigh, and she covered it with hers. He swung his gaze her way, a smile in his eyes.

One by one the women onstage got to their feet and stripped off their robes. Ruthie tried to cover her shock at their nudity. These were the awkward, shy, backward and even broken women she’d shared the stage with a few days before.

The tiny blonde who’d cowered now stood tall, head erect and shoulders thrown back. Her body was on full display and she seemed proud of it.

They aren’t the only ones who’ve had a transformation.
Ruthie wasn’t the same either. Damian had given her confidence and the ability to embrace the passionate side she’d been too afraid to display.

A
snap
of a whip held Ruthie enraptured as the petite blonde bent over a bench. Quay flicked a long whip again, this time skimming her bared ass. Lightly—a caress, almost.

Ruthie’s body jerked into full awareness. Her nipples distended into painful knots, and an ache began deep in her core.

Again Quay cracked the whip over the blonde’s ass. Then more women were bending over, and a tall brunette was being tied to the cross. Stowe looped thin rope around and around, binding her to the wood.

A dark-skinned woman with glorious ebony hair was next, bound at her wrists and ankles with a loop between her thighs. Stowe tipped her over in front of the audience as if to display her glistening folds.

“Some women get off on being tied up,” Damian had told Ruthie earlier. At that moment she’d wondered how being tied up would be sexy. Now that she’d witnessed it, she understood.

She wiggled in her seat, trying to ease the constant throb between her legs. Shooting a glance at Damian’s bulging jeans, she almost moaned. Maybe they could go outside and have some fun of their own. But that would mean missing what was going on here.

Quay slowly circled the woman tied to the cross. She followed him with her gaze, bound so snugly only her eyes could move. Her thighs were parted enough to see her arousal.

Ruthie held her breath as Quay teased her with the knotted tassels of a flogger. He trailed it over her throat and between her breasts. Her nipples stood out, cherry red. He said something quiet to her, and she groaned in response.

Leaning near, Damian said, “He’s told her that she can’t come, no matter what he does to her.”

Ruthie’s heart throbbed faster. “Why?” she whispered.

Damian’s gaze was dark and filled with lust. “He’s in charge of her, right down to her pleasure.” He held her gaze for a long minute. “Would you like that, doll?”

So turned on, she was unable to answer, she just turned her attention back to the stage.

Damian’s fingers were warm against her cooler skin. He traced a path down her forearm and encircled her wrist with his strong fingers, holding her captive.

Onstage, Quay had slipped the handle of the flogger between the woman’s legs and was teasing her pussy. Ruthie watched the black leather-covered handle slide through her wet folds and up to her clit. He tapped the handle against her nubbin, and she cried out.

This time Ruthie heard him when he said, “Don’t come, Arianna.”