Restrain (Siren Book 3) (7 page)

I climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and he grins broadly, still getting the hang of touching me with either side of his relaxed fingers, rather than using his hands. My mouth trembles, at the thought of
willingly
fucking him for the first time. No justifications. No need to string him along, no fears for my own self-preservation should he tire of me.

I'm already wet from the brush of his lips, and his skin against mine, a pure primal reaction that has nothing to do with either of us. So without an ado or discussion, I guide him into me, and ride him senseless. I won't give him my orgasm, no matter
how
he begs for it. That's too personal to be his. Only mine.

Everytime I might get close, I change my rhythm, and alter the sensations to be duller, less satisfying. He sees my ploy, I think, but is in no position to press it. And no matter how he wants to hold out, there's only so long he can, with my body clenched tight around him, grinding and milking his cock toward release. His eyes half shut as he comes, flexing inside me, his body warm beneath me.

I kiss him on the forehead, and slip away to rinse my hands in Allen's cistern. I grab my still damp sports bra and rewet it. Returning to clean the evidence of our tryst from off him, I wipe it from between my legs, as though that'll erase all that it represents. I clean it from the bra as best I can, and rehang it, returning to him to sleep off the rest of our alcoholic languor.

Only when I'm reassured that he's fast asleep can I slide my fingers between my legs to use the slickness he left in me to slip toward my own pleasure.

My fingers gliding effortlessly over my clit, and fighting to not make a sound, I let myself come, the orgasm sweeping over me in intense waves, until my legs convulse, and it's all I can do to hold back from screaming Calder's name, remembering how he felt inside me.

Please
let this cement him to me.
Please
, let this work well enough to buy me some space.
Please
, don't let me be hurting myself worse, fucking him without obligation.

The more I give myself to him in illusion, the more real the illusion becomes.

I'm scared, and I don't know who I'm more frightened of: him or me.

Chapter
Thirteen

Calder

Not for the first time, I dream of Milla. Not her as she exists beside me, or even the ghostly visions of her I dreamt of when I thought she was dead, but the dark haired siren who slapped me and made me overpower her. I wish I could remember when it was, but she
still
hasn't brought it up. Who she was the first time we slept together. From what I remember of that night, whenever it was, she shouldn't have been especially drunk to have blacked it out.
Still, it's my secret. Something that doesn't exist outside of my head. Something that eats me up inside, when I let it.

Her ass under my palm, firm and rounded. Her lips parting for me, allowing my tongue access.

My mouth makes its way lower in a trail of kisses, to the base of her neck, and as I nip her softly, she slaps me. Not a gentle love-tap, but a full-force bitch slap.

I laugh in shock, trying to remember what I did, and in the absence of outright offending her, I can only think of one explanation. She stutters “I... I—” and I cut her off with a firm look and a confident tone.

“You coulda warned me you like it rough.”

“What?”

“That's what that was, right? You want to fight? You want to be hunted?” I smile at her as cheekily as I can, reassuring her that I get it. And
boy
, do I. Some of the little moments that send the blood to my cock, I could never confess
why
to the woman involved. How would it sound to say that her voice sounded just strained enough to make me feel powerful, or that I liked how she flinched, but buckled down and took a firmer spanking.

“Yes. That's it.” My companion's relief is obvious, and gratifying. A kindred spirit.

I kiss her again, and jerk her hands up, despite how she strains in my grip. I press her into the wall, leaning my full weight against her, delighting in her muscular curves against me, solid and tempting. It's been a long time since I got someone so okay with a little force, a little power play.

“Safe word's red,” I offer, but I can't wait for a reply; her neck calls to my lips, and I bite down, hard, savoring the way she squeals. Her breath comes faster, and she wrenches her hand out of mine, and swings it toward my head. I swear as she wings me, and pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder. Still, she doesn't use the safe word. She's looking for a fight, especially one she's gonna enjoy losing.

She tries to scratch me as I carry her, but the few brushes that connect with skin are far from painful. My dick's already straining against my pants at her feral behavior. I laugh, to hide my eagerness, and spank her ass lightly. She tries to kick my hand, but only kicks herself, something that makes me chuckle again.

Her house isn't anything to write home about, certainly not large enough to get lost in. And the light coming from the back room implies that she was there earlier. The edge of a mattress peeks through, so I carry her there, and drop her on the bed. Her dark hair falls across her face, and she blows it out of her sight with an impatient huff.

I don't want to waste a second. No sooner is she out of my hands, then I'm struggling out of my shirt, eager to feel her skin against mine. I meet her eyes. “You okay, Rachael? Too rough?”

Rachael? I mouth the name in a mental fog, looking at the woman curled at my side. Why did she lie? Or is
Camilla
the lie?

This goes
beyond
embarrassment, or not wanting to be shackled to a former anonymous hookup. I've known for a long time now that Milla has her secrets, but I never for a
second
thought any of them had to do with
me
. I never thought they could come between
us
.

Why'd you do it, Mil?

Her face doesn't give me any clues, relaxed as it is in sleep. I pick up a strand of hair, looking closely at it. No signs of dye at her scalp, even after all her time in this abyss. This is her natural color, as near as I can tell. And I know enough about ladies' self-care to know that it would take serious
work
to remove the brunette color without staining her lengths a different shade after.

I don't know who Mil is.

*              *              *

The rest of that orphaned night comes to me in bits and pieces, through dreams and the long work of emptying my mind, grasping for every flicker of it that drifts past me.

“I can take anything you can give me.”

“Red. Remember that.”

“
Fuck you
.”

I pin her to the bed, jerking her hands above her head, where she can't scratch me or slap me. There's something eager and wild in her eyes, something that belies the vitriol in her voice. She knows the safe word, and she
chooses
not to say it. Reassured that I'm not making the worst mistake of my life, I latch the cuffs I picked up from her foyer table onto her wrists, ducking the chain through the headboard in between hands.

For a moment, genuine fear shines through her eyes, to be cuffed to her headboard by a near stranger. Certainly, this isn't gonna be a loving sexual experience. But the fear fades; she has the safe word, and can make it end whenever she wants. Until I ignore the safe word, she has no reason to believe that this won't be pleasant for both of us.

She kicks her feet violently, almost jerking her torso off the bed, and her hands in the cuffs binding her to the headboard. She surprises me with a lucky blow, knocking me off balance. She's not pulling any punches, but she's still not offering the safe word, either. I look for something I can use to make her less likely to hurt me playing that rough, and in her closet, I find a length of rope hanging out of a rugged backpack.

I grin, taking the opportunity to look her in the eye since she can't hurt me yet. “I like a women who's not afraid to go for what she wants. It's what drew me to you in the first place.”

She huffs.

“I mean it—I mean, I'd mean it more if you'd just said it; god, even the thought of those words falling off your lips, it goes right to my cock. See?” I seize her foot, pulling her taut until she can't kick me, and cautiously press her toes against my hard dick. She moans, and that noise robs me of even
more
bloodflow to my already exsanguinated brain.

I tie her ankles together quickly, taking as much care as I can not to cut off her circulation, while also denying her the chance to get loose. She wiggles, testing my work, but it holds. I heave a sigh of relief and excitement, seeing her bound for me, awaiting my touch.

I remember that moment keenly. The surprise at her sexual openness, especially since the last woman I tried to make things work with had a minor panic attack if I so much as spanked her ass affectionately. And, with most of my opportunity limited to one-night stands, with no trust for pursuing more experimental play, I grew used to the idea that I was somehow too much, too intense for any one woman. Rachael—
Milla
—seemed different. And I couldn't say no.
Even though she seemed too good to be true.

“You do this with every random woman you take home?” she taunts me, her eyes bright with a bastard combination of rage and lust.  “You sling her over your shoulder like slaughtered meat, and throw her down, truss her up—”

I can't help but interrupt her. She wants me to shout her down? I can do that. “Like a pig on a spit? Don't give me ideas, sweetheart.”

I sit next to her, pinning her legs where she can't try to kick them both at me, taking the opportunity to memorize her lush curves, and the way the dress clings to them. Her skirt's ridden up far enough to offer me a flash of panties, a lacy pair that makes my mouth water, imagining the way her cunt tastes.

She fidgets under my touch, and I remind myself she likes it rough, squeezing her breasts instead of the formerly gentle cupping. They're full enough to feel divine in my hands, and I could spend several more minutes just tracing my fingers along their curves, but I've got a role to play here. I pinch her nipples, rolling them forcefully between my fingers. “Did I say you could stop talking?”

Her nipples tighten from the stimulation, becoming hard beads as I watch. “Make me.”

I flinch at the hatred in her voice, but she's still not saying the safe word, or even saying no. Just trash-talking me, trying to get me good and angry. I replace the arm pinning her legs down with my own weight, straddling her. “Sing for me, birdie.”

It seemed the perfect nickname for her, the perfect way to encapsulate the way her voice rose and fell with each insult or challenge. And the moment I left to get the keys to her handcuffs after we finished, I wondered if I was jumping in too deep, too fast, creating a term of endearment for a woman who'd likely never return my calls.

I kiss her, showing
both
of us who's in control. Inwardly, I pray I'm not reading this wrong, and that she's not gonna bite me without warning.

She behaves herself, letting me claim her mouth without incident, and I clutch her hair tight, drawing another moan.

Her breasts heave against my chest, and I sit up, the better to watch their motion. “That's better. You keep talking.”

She closes her eyes, focusing on my touch, as I resume memorizing her body for my
own
edification, not hers. Her breasts rise and fall quickly, betraying something other than bravado. “Do you tie all your girls up—”

I pull the top of her dress down, too preoccupied with the end to care about the means.“Nah, birdie. Only you. Don't stop now.” I lower my head to her nipple, suckling and licking the soft flesh to make up for the pain I caused earlier with my pinches.

And just to remind her that just because I can
act
gentle doesn't mean I
will
, I bite down hard, and she moans and arches off the bed.

She opens her eyes, and they're clear and hungry. “Do you tear their clothes off them, and—”

That
gets a chuckle. I know better than to ruin a woman's clothes. “You think I'd ruin a pretty dress like that? I was just gonna unzip it. But, I hate to disappoint—” Since she invited it, I seize the neckline of her dress though it's no longer covering her, and tear my way through the flimsy fabric like it was tissue paper. As I tear the silk over her hips, and her legs press together and relax, it's obvious from both sweet smell and sight that her panties are soaked with her arousal.

I drop the fabric on either side of her, no longer caring so long as her body's exposed for my touch and my sight. Her skin is everything I'd hoped for—velvety and smooth, and shifting as she strains into, and away from my touch with a mind of her own. Remembering her reaction, when I reach her panties, my fingers slide into the crotch of it and tear a hole in the center, big enough to trace a finger against her slick cunt without the lace disrupting the feel of her.

“
You
, are a pain in my ass.” She looks mildly annoyed about the torn clothes.

I can't keep my amusement hidden.“You're saying that now, but—”

Her eyes widen, the first truly defenseless thing I've seen tonight, and the reaction gives me a sick little thrill. I'm going to hell.

“You wouldn't dare.”

I soften, not in the mood to taunt her with that vulnerability between us. “Only if you want me to.”

She's quiet, an obvious “no”, but one that doesn't bother me in the least. There's more than enough other things I want to share with her. Then, her eyes light up with that same feral glow, and she backtracks. “Bring it on. You think that little thing's gonna—”

I laugh harshly, falling back into character, since she's already done the same.“You don't pull your punches, do you? That's fine.”

I pry her knees apart, leaving her ankles tied, and climb between her legs, pressing myself against her wet heat. I'll probably have pussy stains on my pants in the morning, but Evan knows not to comment. It's entirely too worth it to savor every way she feels against me, even the ways that surely aren't as satisfying as skin-on-skin. “Well, just know that this 'little thing' is gonna fuck you up.”

Her lips part, in a little gasp buried beneath a defiant glare.

I kiss her shoulders for myself, and then bite her earlobe for
her
needs. “I'm gonna fuck you 'til you cry, Birdie.”

“Like hell you are.” That fieriness, that burning anger, it's a potent aphrodisiac. I love that she's trusting me to not take it personally, and to stop when she needs her safe word.

“You just keep telling yourself that. Keep saying it right until you scream my name.” I need to feel her, mental games be damned. I reach for my pants, eyes on her to make sure she's okay with it. Despite the challenge in her glare, her eyes are dark with lust, just
daring
me. No,
begging
me.

Even in the moment, I remember my gripping fondness for her. Not just for the things we shared with our bodies, but for her quickness shooting insults and rejoinders at me. For the opportunity to flex my own mental wings, engrossing both of us in that encounter
fully
. How strange to discover that even forgetting her completely, I've still found my way back into her arms. That this is
twice
now she's wormed her way into my heart.