His teeth bit down on my bottom lip hard enough for me to gasp, but he swallowed the sound. His cock was hard against my stomach, my sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. All of my senses were on overload. I couldn’t think. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to stop.
But he did.
He stopped as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me across his lap. I was too startled to do more than squeak as he positioned me over his thighs, my ass in the air. I could feel the head of his cock against my belly, wet with my saliva.
“What...?”
The sentence stopped abruptly as Cross’ hand came down sharply on my ass. It was more of a shock than a hurt, but I yelped all the same.
“What the hell?!” I struggled against his arm, but he held me tight.
“We discussed this earlier,” he said, his voice firm. “You disobey, there are consequences. You agreed.”
Shit. He was right. I had. I knew that meant my only options were to use my safe word...or take it.
Another crack made me jump. This time, there was a bit more of a sting.
And something else.
Arousal.
He spanked me twice more, each a little harder than the last. My ass was stinging, overly warm, but not actually hurting. And then his hand was sliding down between my legs, fingers dipping into me.
“You’re wet, baby,” he murmured. “Did you like that?”
My face burned even as I gasped, pushing back against his hand.
“What are you supposed to do when I ask you a question?”
“A-answer.” I doubted I could’ve remembered my name at the moment.
“The blow job, the spanking, did you like them?”
I didn’t really want to answer, but I knew what would happen if I didn’t. “Yes,” I admitted. “I did.”
I felt his hands at my wrists, and then they were free. He pulled me up, arranging my legs across his lap, his arms around me as he rubbed my arms and wrists. I hadn’t even realized that my hands had started to go numb until I felt the pins and needles of blood flowing back into my extremities.
“Did you?” I asked, watching his hands instead of looking at his face.
“Did I what?”
“Enjoy...all of it.”
His hands stopped their ministrations, and then he was rolling us over onto the bed. I hissed out air as the soft sheets rubbed against my ass. He landed with his elbows on either side of my waist. His eyes locked with mine as he put my legs over his shoulders.
He started to lower his head, then stopped and looked up at me. “Yesterday, was that the first time someone had gone down on you?”
I nodded, my entire body tight with anticipation.
He turned his head and kissed the inside of my thigh. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked, completely confused.
“For not making your first experience memorable.”
My eyebrows went up. “It was, trust me.”
Something crossed his face, and he pushed up onto his elbows. “Please tell me that wasn’t the first orgasm you’d ever had.”
I shook my head, then, after a moment’s consideration, clarified. “It was the first someone else had given me.”
He scowled. “If I ever meet that ex of yours, I’m going to kick his ass.” Then he nipped at my thigh and I let out an undignified sound. “Or maybe I should thank him.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I get to be the first man to show you just how many times you can come from someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“And you do?” I shot back with a grin.
A dangerous look came into his eyes.
Shit.
Any other thought I may have had flew out of my head the moment Cross buried his face between my legs and set out to prove just how much he
did
know what he was doing.
He was relentless, driving me toward an earth-shattering climax within just a few minutes. But he didn’t let up, continuing to lick and suck and nip until I was writhing, almost sobbing with the intensity of sensation coursing through me. I tried pushing his head away, but he merely caught my hands, laced his fingers between mine, and held them. Just when I was ready to scream out my safe word because I couldn’t handle anything else, he sat back on his knees, his face glistening, a smug smile on his face.
“You proved your point,” I said once I’d found enough air.
“And now I’m going to prove another one,” he said as he climbed off the bed.
He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out not one, but several condoms. He tossed them onto the bed and moved back to kneel between my legs.
“What point is that?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “That I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, make you scream my name until your throat hurts.”
I swallowed hard.
“And I’m going to make you come so hard that you pass out.”
My eyes widened slightly. Oh, fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
Cross was definitely as good as his word. On Tuesday, he did indeed fuck me until I passed out. And yesterday morning, I could barely walk and my throat was sore. So yesterday’s lessons had all been gentle. Sensation play, he’d called it. He’d blindfolded me, tied me up so I couldn’t move, then used ice and feathers and silk until I’d begged him to do something else, anything else. Then he’d tortured me by taking me to the brink of release, then backing off.
Today, apparently, was about obedience despite discomfort, as well as pushing my limits.
His way of doing that was for us to have breakfast on the enclosed porch...and then ordering me to strip completely naked while he stayed clothed, opening his pants only wide enough for his cock to come out. He’d rolled on a condom and given me further instructions.
So, now I was riding his cock, my back to him, my legs spread wide as I moved up and down, breasts bouncing. And anyone who happened by the side of the cabin could’ve looked in and seen everything. Seen the way Cross’ cock stretched me wide as it slid in and out of me. The way Cross was making me cup my breasts, roll my nipples, pull on them until they were throbbing.
The muscles in my legs were starting to burn, but Cross had given me strict orders that I wasn’t allowed to come until he said I could. And I needed to come. My nerves were stretched so taut that if I didn’t climax soon, I was going to explode.
Oh, and I wasn’t allowed to touch my clit either.
I could only see Cross in the window reflection, but it was enough to annoy me. He was leaning back, arms crossed behind his head, looking at ease with the world. Then his eyes met mine in the reflection, and I saw that he wasn’t as laid-back as he seemed.
I flexed around him and he swore, his calm demeanor cracking. He sat up, sliding his arms around my waist. He pressed his mouth against my ear even as he pulled me down onto him. He moved me in circles, back and forth, creating a new sort of friction.
“When we get back to the city, we need to talk about what we should so that we don’t have to bother with condoms.” His tongue flicked against my earlobe. “I want to be able to take you whenever I want. Up against a wall, in the car, public, private, anywhere I want you. Everywhere I want you.”
I closed my eyes. Fuck. I wanted that too. Wanted to feel nothing between us but skin.
“Come for me, baby.” He nipped my ear. “I’m close. All I need is to feel you squeeze me.”
Then his fingers were sliding over my clit, giving me the last bit I needed to come. I cried out, my muscles tensing, doing exactly what Cross had wanted. He groaned and his grip around me tightened. He pressed his mouth against the side of my neck. I could feel him sucking, biting, and I knew he was going to leave a mark. I was still shuddering from my climax and didn’t have the strength to protest, even if I’d wanted to.
It wasn’t until several minutes later, when I was wrapped in a blanket and curled on his lap that I finally spoke.
“Did you seriously give me a hickey?”
He laughed and kissed my forehead. “Yes, I did.”
“You seem rather proud of yourself,” I said, sounding more annoyed than I was.
He slid one hand under the blanket to cup one breast. “Just wanted to give you a bit of a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?” I asked as I leaned into his touch.
“That you’re mine.”
Before I could even process the statement, his phone rang and he was moving me onto the love-seat as he got up to answer it.
Had he seriously just said that? He’d wanted to remind me that I was his? When had that happened? Just a couple days ago, we’d been talking about the difference between being a lover versus just a sexual partner. Now he was saying that I was...his? And what exactly did that mean?
“One moment, Roster. Let me put you on speaker.”
Cross sat back down next to me and put the phone on his knee. His expression told me that whatever was going on, it needed to take precedence over his random – or maybe not so random – statement.
“I have Juliette Breckenridge’s sister here with me,” he said. “I want you to repeat what you just told me.”
A man’s voice came through the phone, his tone crisp and business-like. That was good. I preferred that to any sort of sympathetic condescension that someone might’ve thought appropriate given the circumstances.
“I was able to find a letter Miss Breckenridge received from her stalker and trace it back to a post office. Long story short, it comes back to this guy named Howie Pant.”
The errant thought flashed into my head that it sounded like a porn star from the seventies.
“I haven’t been able to find the guy yet, but I’ve put together some information on him,” Mr. Roster continued. “Turns out, he and Juliette were...involved.”
I frowned. Juliette hadn’t ever mentioned a boyfriend. In fact, I’d gotten the impression that she hadn’t wanted one, that she preferred her single life.
“Hanna is aware of her sister’s sexual habits,” Cross said. “You can be blunt.”
I found his interpretation of protecting me quite interesting. I would’ve assumed that someone who wanted control, who wanted to protect, would be the sort of person who’d essentially treat the object of his affection as if she was fragile, breakable. He’d refuse to let her do anything herself, refuse to let her know anything that might hurt her. Cross, however, seemed to understand that fine line between protecting and domineering.
“Pant was Miss Breckenridge’s submissive. The two of them had been seen together a couple of times, but Juliette made it clear that there was nothing outside of sex. The people I talked to said that she ended things when it became clear that Mr. Pant thought there was more between them than there was.”
I shivered, rubbing my hands over my arms. I was suddenly very aware that, beneath the blanket, I was naked.
Cross wrapped his arm around me and pulled me against him. I leaned on him, grateful for the support.
“Do you think this guy has Juliette?” Cross asked.
“He hasn’t been seen or heard from since the night Miss Breckenridge disappeared,” Roster answered. “Hasn’t shown up for work or at his apartment. Neighbors have no clue where he is.”
“Is it possible that he’s just avoiding the police since he has to know he’d be a suspect?” Cross asked.
If the PI took offense to the questioning, his voice didn’t show it. “It’s possible,” he said. “Especially since everyone I talked to said that Pant barely did anything without someone having to tell him to do it first. The letter he wrote to Miss Breckenridge supports that. He believed she abandoned him and that, without her, he couldn’t function.”
“How could someone like that kidnap someone like my sister?” I asked. The answer came even as I finished the question. “Unless he drugged her.”
“Again, possible,” Roster said.
Cross tapped his fingers on is thigh. “But you have another theory.”
“I do,” the PI replied. “I think this was at least a two-person job. Remember, this isn’t just about Juliette being kidnapped. Hanna was drugged as well.”
“I’m aware of that.” Cross’ voice was tight and I reached over to take his hand.
“There’s a chance it was a coincidence.” Roster acted as if Cross hadn’t spoken at all. “But my gut tells me differently. I think Pant’s been after Juliette ever since she dumped him. I think he probably even fantasized about taking her so that she could never leave him. But I think he never intended to do anything. He’s smart enough to know that he couldn’t handle Juliette himself. His drive to obey her would be too great.”
That was a good point, I realized. If this guy had taken Juliette and he was truly a Sub, he would’ve been conflicted to say the least when she ordered him to let go.
“I think this was all stewing in Pant, but if he’d blown on his own, it would’ve been something spontaneous and probably more about hurting himself than her.”
“Like killing himself in front of her so she’d feel guilty,” I suggested.
“Exactly,” Roster said. “But I think someone intervened. Someone who was more organized, more careful. This would be someone who could provide Pant with what he needed to carry out a kidnapping. Something that would enable him to keep Juliette without having to worry about her ordering him to let her go. Someone who knew exactly what sort of leverage they’d need.”