Mistress of Redemption (13 page)

he’d never truly known what a gift

was.

God…the sensation… He’d heard

how men’s piercings increased a

woman’s

pleasure, but he hadn’t realized how

much more sensitive it would make

him. His fury with her taunting, with

her ability to shoot down his best

attempts to gain the advantage on her,

all of that receded at the joining of

their two bodies. He willed more

blood into his cock to make it harder,

thicker so he could feel the full

pressure of the clamp of her silken

walls on him. The restraint over his

hipbones did not give him control in

any way. It was all her, coming down

on him at her own pace, her small

hands braced on his upper abdomen.

Yes. This is where I want to be.

Experiencing her in all his senses,

being with her in every way. Taking

care of her forever so she’d never

want anyone else.

He told himself Fiona was right, his

response came from the endorphins

of the piercings. Or the weirdness of

this place Dona called Hell.

He’d never thought about taking care

of a woman. Not…for a long time. If

he did think about it, it was part of a

strategy. Opening doors, getting them

a drink… It was a form of caring for

a woman even Mistresses enjoyed,

for it was evidence that the slave

liked serving their needs. He looked

at Dona’s hands braced on his

stomach to balance herself, the

fragile slim fingers curling in as she

sought her pleasure. He thought of the

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Joey W. Hill

pain and tiredness he’d seen just for

a moment in her face when she’d

returned from her mysterious

meeting. It bothered him. He wanted

to…

“Please, Mistress.” The words came

from a part of himself he didn’t

know. “Please release my hips so I

can serve you properly.”

She studied his face as she went

down on him another inch, her fingers

digging in even more. She was tight,

so blessedly tight. “Please,

Mistress.”

The bonds slid away and his hips

were free. Miraculously, so were his

hands. He wanted so much to put

them on her, but he waited,

wondering at the tremors that ran

through his body as she wrapped her

delicate fingers around each wrist

and guided his hands to her bare hips.

“Not until I come,” she reminded

him. He heard the catch in her voice

as she sank down further. He

tightened his hands on her, rising to

meet her in the same motion.

“Never,” he promised, though he was

already setting his teeth against that

increased sensitivity, the stroke of

her on the ladder. After five years in

prison, he should have gone off like a

rocket at the slick glove of her pussy.

Hell, he should have spewed the

moment she stood up on the seat of

her car. He didn’t know if he was

aided by his otherworldly

surroundings, but he called on the

same discipline he’d used to keep

himself from jacking off and clung to

it grimly, even as his body

shuddered. He wanted her to go first.

He wanted to know he’d brought her

to that pinnacle while buried deep

inside her. He wanted to believe he’d

given it to her with an intensity no

other man had. She was his. His.

The thoughts were astonishing, but

they flowed from his mind with the

blurting, tumbling clumsiness of a

man discovering prayer.

Jesus, it was Heaven and Hell both.

As she rose and fell, he learned her

preferred cadence, keeping his

strokes steady, taking her deeper with

the strength in his hands. It gave him

an unexpected humble gratitude, the

ability to offer her something she

didn’t have herself. Vibrators could

bring sensation, but they couldn’t

duplicate the feel of a man’s hands,

demanding, desiring her, cherishing

her skin so she’d know being with

her was better to him than a

widescreen TV, a sports car or front-

row tickets to the Superbowl.

Her breasts moved before him,

swaying, wobbling. He couldn’t help

his mouth.

“You’ve got the most beautiful

breasts I’ve ever seen.”

He wanted to bury his face in them,

suckle them. Be smothered in them.

As if she heard the cry of his heart

she pressed them to his face, curling

her arms around his head as he drew

up his now free legs to press his

thighs against her ass and raised his

hips to accommodate the new angle.

His adjustment earned him a soft cry

from her lips, brushing his ear. He

clutched a generous handful of each

buttock and plunged in harder,

increasing his stroke length even as

his mouth found a nipple, latched on

and suckled with ferocity. God, if she

didn’t go over, he was going to

explode. He’d almost welcome that

damn cock harness now to make sure

he stayed in check just long enough.

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Mistress of Redemption

Her cheek pressed against his bare

crown, her breath coming hard. She

was strong, lithe, matching him

movement for movement. The

pleasure was almost as unbearable as

the pain had been.

“If this is Hell, I want to stay

forever,” he groaned.

At the words, she shattered, bowing

back, putting her breast deeper into

his mouth.

Tugging, tormenting, he kept up the

stimulation as the pressure of her

fingers increased against his head.

He wondered if she was wishing that

she’d left him his hair so she could

yank on it. He missed it too, a

woman’s way of using his hair to

communicate her urgency, affection

or nurturing… Her cunt convulsed

against him, clutching at his cock

with squeezing, excoriating pressure

as she climaxed, making him groan.

Don’t come. Don’t come until she

says you can. That’s the way it

works.
Her hand whispered across

his scalp, making him think of her

stroking it when it had hair. He

seized on the image to steady him,

imagined himself with her in a park,

his head in her lap as she petted him,

read a book. Slowly, lazily tangling

her fingers in the locks.

Putting him to sleep, even as his cock

stirred, thinking of her touch moving

down…

Up until now he’d never thought of

his hair or any feature of his body as

anything more than an indication of

how well he was doing at giving his

Mistress the kind of pleasure she

wouldn’t want to do without. No

matter how often he dangled it before

her and drew it away. A delicate

game of cat and mouse he’d played

where the Mistress eventually

became an emotionally dependent

slave. Now there was only Dona and

the pleasure he’d created for her, the

cries coming from her throat, the bite

of her nails and the soft slap of her

slick body against his. Though she’d

said where the finish line was, he

wanted her permission to let go. If he

came inside her, it would be the

height of intimacy, an avenue into her

soul, a way to connect she couldn’t

deny. He was sure of it. It was in his

grasp, like the glint of a hard metal

trophy.

“Mistress,” he rasped, still pumping

hard, his voice muffled somewhat by

her round curves, his mouth hot and

wet on the valley between those

quivering breasts.

“Please… Let me come for you.”

He was so close, bursting with it, so

it took a moment to register her

response, the fact she was drawing

away, rising off his cock, even as his

body bucked.

“No.”

“No—” He couldn’t help himself.

His hands reached out to seize her

hips, to yank her back. All the pain of

the piercings and the burn of the

earlier rape by Fiona slammed back

into him full force, overpowering

him. Because he’d learned to have

fast reflexes in prison, he held her

fast anyway, gritting his teeth. He

was going to come inside her,

dammit. He was going to break into

her head even if he had to do it with

force.

The grass restraints reared out of the

ground, coiled around his wrists and

wrenched his arms out to either side

of him, tearing his hands from her.

They looped over and over to hold

him up to the armpits. He struggled,

trying to get away, but the other

restraints were back as well,

anchoring his waist and hips, holding

him still, 53

Joey W. Hill

agonizingly on the brink of orgasm.

The pain was gone like a passing

thought and the denied release tore at

him with savage, lustful teeth.

The image of them in the park

vanished. He would have murdered

her if he was free. Hurt her as she’d

just deliberately hurt him. But that’s

what women did. Had he forgotten so

quickly? She was a cleverer Mistress

than he’d given her credit for. She’d

blindsided him and he felt the impact

as if his soul had collided with a

diesel truck.

He’d been trying to give her

everything, hadn’t he? What the hell

did she want?

“Conniving cunt,” he snarled. “Damn

you.”

The look in her eyes was brittle,

withdrawn. The traces of mortal

woman were gone, replaced with a

creature that was seductress,

otherworldly and dangerous. “Been

there, done that, Jonathan. Why do

you think I’m here?”

She cocked a brow, her gaze passing

over the ladder and D-ring, a

reminder that she had ways of

tethering him in almost any way she

desired. While it made him angry and

fearfully anxious, he also stayed

powerfully aroused.

“What the hell have you done to me?

No matter what you do, my dick just

wants you more.”

She knelt beside him, her knee

brushing his hip as she reached out

and toyed with one of the nipple

rings. His cock leaked fluids. If she

touched him there at all, he was sure

he’d go off like a geyser. She studied

his turgid member, an absorbed

expression on her face. Despite his

rage with her, he couldn’t help but be

distracted by the delicate angles of

her profile, so at odds with the

strength that pulsed from her like

roaring flame.

“It’s because you
are
a male

submissive, Nathan,” she said at last,

bringing her gaze back to his. “You

don’t like to admit it to yourself, but

you didn’t jack off in prison once,

did you? What kind of man does that?

What kind of man feels he can’t

allow himself satisfaction unless a

woman commands it?”

His lip curled, wanting to deny it, but

she wasn’t done. “You’re a

submissive of such wondrous beauty

and power, any Mistress would kill

to cherish you as her own. If your

soul wasn’t poisoned. And if you

weren’t mine.”

The possessive comment startled

him, the proprietary words slamming

into his chest, robbing him of breath

for a moment. When he remembered

how she’d left him dangling, so close

to coming, he rallied.

“Was that what denying me was

about? Your way of ‘cherishing’

me?” He sneered it.

“Karma has a much shorter

turnaround time here. Wasn’t that

what you were doing to me a few

moments ago? Bringing me pleasure

and then planning to use it against me

as a weapon?”

“I was right,” he snarled. “To try to

do it to you before you did it to me.”

He yanked against the bonds. With

her words rasping across his nerve

endings, his limbs jerked as if they’d

been touched by electrical current.

He was feeling suffocated. He had to

go, to leave. He needed to run.

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Mistress of Redemption

“Sshh…ssshh…” When she touched

his head to calm him, he whipped in

that

direction, seized her wrist in his teeth

and bit down.

He punctured her flesh, clamping his

jaws together with the grim

determination of a pit bull. She’d

know he wasn’t to be fucked with.

Play with his mind, would she?

Bitch. She wasn’t allowed to hurt

him. No woman hurt him.

No, no woman will. If you could

reach my face, would you tear that

away too? Break my
ribs, rip them
free, gnaw on them? Will consuming

the flesh and heart of a woman give

you your
vengeance on us? Bring

you peace?

The red haze before his eyes began to

fade away at the gruesome image of