Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (24 page)

“God, where did you come from? You’re the sweetest nightmare I could ever conjure up,” she said, kissing me back. “You do know we’re fucked, right? This coupling is fucking dangerous. You make me feel emotions I never thought possible. Never dreamed of feeling. Certainly not while awake. Please don’t hurt me, Abel. It would destroy me. Fucking destroy me.” She sealed her pleas with a kiss.

“Never.” I drew her in to kiss her so solemnly, so thoroughly, and so completely, I consumed her. This girl was going to be the death of me. I swore to God right then and there: I knew it, my heart knew it, my mind had always known it. Now she knew it. Soon the world would know it. I threw caution to the wind. I was that confident—that totally and pathetically pussy-whipped.

And just like that I was horny. Just thinking of a whip had me done for. I said, “My cock has been craving this tight pussy all night, babe.” I leaned in, cupping her pussy with my hand.

She sighed loudly. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you,” she joked, and we both laughed heartily for a few minutes. I reckoned I really was a caveman.
Whatever.

Everyone walked back over, ecstatic that my head was screwed on right again. We chinked our bottles in salute. Gia
was
sanity to me. As long as she was near, I would be able to breathe. We partied the rest of the night, Ender-free. That was to be dealt with at another time. We all threw back some shots, including the girls. Cindy, however, continued to give me the stink eyes. She was worried my humping and dumping ways would return, only to fuck over Gia. I assured her that would never be the case.

The past few weeks had been sublime. He had opened me up to a world I hadn’t known existed in Colorado. During the days, I continued to work for his father, keeping our relationship low-key. The press had their fun with our hookah lounge fiasco. The attention I had thought I would relish in the beginning turned out to be not so pleasant, after all. My private life was no longer my own. Anything we did made news.

We continued our morning ritual at the local coffee bean. He called it our ‘Sunrise dates’. He spent the rest of his day in the studio producing newly written material for the European leg of the tour. He asked me to come on tour with him. I needed time to volley that proposal. I had a job that paid well. I didn’t want to lose that. God forbid things didn’t happen between us as we wanted them to. Nothing was a given in life.

My mother continued to leave threatening messages on my voicemail about how I was fucking with the wrong person. She kept saying if I didn’t heed her warnings she’d resort to non-familial help in getting what she wanted. Either way, she would get her due. I had started out thinking one way about Abel Gunner: in the beginning, I had wanted his money, not him. I had been coaxed into thinking that a man made you who you are, with his money, his privilege, his social standing. My upbringing had taught me to claw my way to the top, to put myself in a position to repay my mother for the luxury of being her child. Medusa’s health was declining. I was a means to an end: my sole purpose in life was to preserve her middle-class lifestyle—and if possible, provide her with an even better one. From an early age, I had been groomed to be nothing more than a whore for her. I realized now I had never known what love was—what it was to feel love, and to feel
loved
. I wanted to feel these feelings now more than I wanted anything else. I wanted to rejoice in the freedom to have them. However, I knew it would all come at a price. And going against my mother’s will would cost me. I also knew I’d never give up the only man I had ever loved. No way in fucking hell would I do that. He was worth whatever misery she might cause. More than worth it …

I was bound, but not gagged, because he loved the sounds I made. He stalked powerfully around me. I was at his mercy—a word I’d become very familiar with. My ass was perched high in the air, the way he liked it. The flogger met my backside, leaving tingles across my body. He had desensitized my body by dragging the flogger slowly across my extremities. It never left my body during play. He alternated flogging me with finger-fucking me. He would gruffly probe me with his fingers, hitting my G-spot, bringing me close to orgasm, only to abate. He had taught me where my G-spot was. He had taught me how to bring myself to a G-spot orgasm through internal self-stimulation, rather than through my clitoris. My orgasms had reached a whole new level. I had never experienced a G-spot orgasm before Abel.

But this was just one of many eye-opening experiences I’d come to know under his tutorship. Withholding my orgasms was a fetish of his. Or was it a Dom thing? I didn’t really know. What I did know is that it was so fucking maddening. The build-up to an Abel orgasm was worth the sacrifice. With Abel, I never just had one epic orgasm. He prided himself on giving me several before allowing himself release. He was selfless in that way. He was a beautifully complicated creature—almost otherworldly.

And now he stood formidably in front of my legs, his cock powerfully erect with beads of come leaking from the tip. I couldn’t help licking my now-dry lips.

“What did I tell you about licking your lips, Beauty?” He moved behind me, snapping the flogger across my ass. I let out a scream—not one of pain, but of erotic pleasure.

“You … you … you said for me not to lick my lips unless I wanted to get fucked.” I sighed deeply. “You said you can’t take watching me do that because it drives you crazy,” I continued. God, I hope he was fucking crazy right now.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It drives me fucking feral. My beast is clawing to get at you,” he growled, as he continued to pace like a panther hunting its prey, his cock proudly taut. “Do you want release, Beauty? Beg me. I want to hear what you want—
how
you want it.”

One hand carried the flogger, the other hand firmly fisting his cock. The flogger came down across the backs of my thighs. I yelped. I was certain when this scene was over and he bathed me, my behind would be criss-crossed in different shades of red. And he would revel in its beauty. His marks meant he possessed me. I wore them proudly.

“I want your tongue on me, Sir. In me. All over me, Sir.” There, I had said it. Fire licked my face. I still felt self-conscious about asking for, begging for, or admitting to my desires. It didn’t feel wrong that I craved what he did to my body: it just felt unfamiliar. It evoked
feelings
. With me, feelings were unwelcome. As my Dom, he saw my pain though my actions. He had never asked me about my troubles directly. He had only said, “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me everything. I’m very much looking forward to getting to know all about you, Gia.” We had been working on that. I loved him for not trying to push or pry into my personal life. Sexually, there was no more hiding or withholding anything. Mentally, my walls were slowly beginning to crumble. He reveled in my naiveté. I was new to both his social world as well as the BDSM. It pleased him, and he thought my innocence refreshing.

“Please,” I begged.

“First, I’m going to eat out that gorgeous pink pussy. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me inside you for days.” He settled between my spread legs, lifting my ass up to his face. He smeared my wetness all over him. This man had a penchant for pussy—
my
pussy. I had no objections to that at all.

“Umm, so delicious. I’ve missed you, my Beauty,” he said, between licks. I was so sensitive from his constant licking and sucking, I couldn’t help but squirm, which only fueled him further. He embedded his tongue deep inside me, twirling it as he played, nibbling on my clit. My whining increased as I struggled against my bindings, chafing my skin. There was no helping it. I was being driven mad by his tongue. He worked my sweet spot until I came on his tongue, screaming as he lapped away all my juices, leaving me clean.

“That’s it. So responsive. So fucking perfect. I couldn’t have built a better submissive myself.
Now
you get my cock in you. I’m going to come deep inside you, leaking out of you for the next few hours.” He nudged his thick, pierced head at my entrance. I was limp, having had no time to recover. I was exhausted both physically and emotionally, exhausted from the constant sensations and arousal. He had wrung every last bit out of me—and he wasn’t done yet. He started slapping my clit with his Apadravya, snapping me back to life. The sensation caused my pussy to release fluid. He pushed in so hard I lost my breath. Using the restraints to steady myself only made it that much harder for me breathe. I pushed backwards, spearing myself on him, as his fingers buried themselves into my hips, pulling me into his thrusts.

“Jesus Christ Al-fucking-mighty, don’t stop!” I cried out.

I was met with silence. I turned to observe him, only to see the pupils of his eyes fully dilated, engulfing the brown of his irises: those eyes were large, wild, and dangerous. He was beyond talk. Wildly, he uttered garbled, mangled, hissing expletives. He leaned forward, kneading my breasts, pinching my already sensitive nipples. I screamed his name over and over again—pleas for mercy. Why were my ears ringing? Why did I hear my blood swishing through them? Maybe my screams had broken my ear drums? Whatever the reason was, it was deafening. The sting of pleasure tingled up my spine, signaling yet another orgasm.

“Your cunt chokes my fuckin’ cock so good, babe. So help me, I’m going to be buried inside of you every day, all day.” He spat, his strokes long and sure. He allowed the head of his cock to come almost completely out before he surged back in, bottoming out. The sounds of his balls slapping my ass sounded like the flogger striking my body. His body jerked, spasming as he emptied himself inside me. It was the best sex of my life, to date. He reached out, tracing my jawline with his thumb. I leaned into his touch.

Abel’s come leaked out from between my thighs, dripping down my legs. His intensity had taught me true symbiotic adulation. We were both perfectly fucked-up in all the worst possible ways. And yet we worked. We both got what we needed—along with a few things we had never thought to ask for. I submitted to his skilled mastering of my body daily, recognizing his need for control. I wanted to give him what he needed. He gave me everything I needed with a mere gaze. There was no reluctance on my part, only willing submission. It was the only gift he wanted. Everything else was the icing on the cake.