Boy (The Training House #2) (5 page)

Suddenly the gates swing wide and we’re all out at once, running across the arena, and it’s all flying fucking nerves and heat and the rage running through my veins, because I
will
have her. She is
mine
. She’s running toward me, her eyes wild with fear, her green ribbons fluttering, her gorgeous breasts bouncing. The dark-haired Boy that was penned next to me tries to shoulder me out of the way, but I turn and easily take him down with one swipe at his ankle. Foolish Boy. With a growl I jump on him, straddling his body, and when he struggles I bend down and sink my teeth into the back of his shoulder. He howls, but the sound only makes my blood run hotter. Makes me more determined.

“It’s your lucky day,” I tell him as I jump up. “I have other targets in mind.”

Things are moving quickly, and I take a brief moment to assess. One of the Girls has taken a Boy down, and is fucking him with her strap-on, holding one arm behind his back. Two of the Boys are wrestling, the oil on their skin making them slip and slide together in the dirt, and a third Boy jumps in while the crowd cheers. And beyond them, the redhead is running right at Aimée.

I am not having it.

“Motherfuckerrrrr!” I yell as I run full speed.

Slamming into him, I take him down to the ground, and he kicks at me, then he wraps one long leg around mine and manages to flip me over onto my back. He’s on top of me, his long cock rubbing against mine, and the hard surge of desire is a momentary part of this dance as we lock gazes. I growl again as I slam both fists up onto his chest and shove him off me. Now I’m on top of him, and I grab his sides, taking fistfuls of his tight, fine flesh in my hands, grabbing hard, clawing at him. He yells, tries to throw me off, but he can’t do it, and I crow in victory, which I’m sure pisses him off. Kicking his legs apart, I almost have him, but he fights me, and those muscular thighs are damn strong. As he wraps his legs around my waist there is some endless span of time where everything is happening in slow motion—or a thousand miles an hour, I don’t fucking know—when I’m uncertain about which of us will win. That’s not like me, but this Boy… He’s fucking something, him and his lusciously pierced nipples and huge muscles. And either I’m going to fuck him, or he’s going to fuck me, and one of us will win Aimée, and it had better God fucking damn it be
me
!

Somehow, the redhead pumps up and I feel the hard length of his dick at my asshole, but I will not let him in. I won’t do it. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I squeeze as hard as I can. He lets out a cry of pain and defeat, loosening his hold on me just long enough for me to throw him hard to the ground, under me, and I
will
have his ass.

He’s trying to throw me off him, writhing and bucking. I lean in and sink my teeth into his throat, feeling the muscles there working, tightening. And he’s yelling as I shove my dick between his ass cheeks. Then a thought stops me cold. Leaning up, I press hard on his chest with one fisted hand to keep him down, my knuckles digging into the pressure points there. I press my other hand over his mouth, constricting his breathing a little, keeping him quiet. There’s blood seeping from the wounds at his sides, and my teeth marks are deep in the skin at his neck. Nice.

“You know I’m going to fuck you,” I tell him, not giving him a chance to answer before I go on. “I can do it right now, if I want. I
do
want to—you’re a big, pretty monster of a Boy. Except if I plow your ass, I can’t plow the girl we both want. But she’s mine, that one. Don’t even fucking try it or I will take you down so hard you’ll be out of commission for a month. I will break your bones if I have to. I don’t fucking care about the rules here. I will do what I want. Do you understand me? You will not touch her. Go after one of the others. And if you even try it, I will come for you after I fuck her, when cross-contamination isn’t an issue any longer. Do you understand me?”

I can tell from his expression that he’s still full of the animal we are meant to be in this place, his hazel eyes gleaming with fire and lust. His big dick is hard as ever, his nipples erect, the steel bars glinting evilly in the sun. But he gives a small nod of his head, letting me know he won’t mess with me on this.

As I start to get up he says, “I’ll have your ass another day, and you’ll like it,
Christopher
. Oh yes, I know exactly who you are.”

I give him a cocky grin. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I don’t even bother to look at him again as I scan the ring for Aimée. And God damn it, one of the Boys is on her, trying to wrestle her to the ground, but I’m off like a shot, crossing to the other side of the ring in mere seconds. She’s putting up a hell of a fight, and I’m damn proud of her. Going in for a flying side-kick that is guaranteed to take this asshole out—this asshole who dares to approach the girl I think of as my property, even given the absurdity of our situation—I feel the air empty from his lungs beneath the impact of my foot. I don’t even have to look to know he’s on the ground, doubled over in pain, maybe a rib cracked. No, my entire focus is
her
—her wild green eyes, the flush in her cheeks as she falls into my arms. I have half a second to wonder what the Masters and Mistresses think of that before I simply wrap her up in my body, easing her down onto the ground as gently as I can, given how jacked up I am still—even more now, after wrestling a few of the Boys. And there’s heated, female flesh squirming in my hands, and somehow her relieved tears make it even hotter.

“I’ve got you,” I tell her in a harsh whisper. “I’m going to fuck you into the ground. Tell me you want me. Or fuck it—don’t. It’s gonna happen either way.”

“Oh, God yes,” she says, making me smile. Or maybe it’s more a baring of teeth as I flip her legs up onto my shoulders, and without another moments’ hesitation, I thrust into her tight, wet cunt.

“Ah!”

Her green eyes go wide, shock and desire there, and something else that makes my own legs go weak. And she feels like fucking heaven inside—even the poet in me can’t begin to describe it, not with the words it requires. Velvet and clasping. Like my cock is being choked in satin. When I sling my hips back, then sink into her again, her hands go to my shoulders, her nails digging into my flesh, and already a small yell forms in her long, lovely throat. It begins as a sort of mewling, kitten-like, then turns into a growl, and I know she is truly one of
us
. Animal. Primal. Then her nails rake my shoulders as I really begin to fuck her in long, punishing strokes, then shorter, sharper jabs. She starts to come and I clamp a hand over her mouth. Her eyes go glassy as she comes, her lungs starved for air. I know exactly how being choked out makes climaxing immeasurably more intense. I love watching it happen to her.

She’s still coming when I flip her over, putting her on hands and knees, then pushing down hard on her back until she’s on elbows and knees, and I thrust into her sweet little cunt once more. I don’t even know how I’ve held it back, except that I need to do things to her… I need to fuck her and mark her and
claim
her, God damn it.

Leaning in, I sink my teeth into the back of her neck and hang on as I plunge into her, over and over, harder and harder, and she’s sliding in the dirt, coughing at the dust, but I don’t care, except that I do, because it’s fucking hot as hell. I taste her blood under my tongue, and slide my mouth around to the side of her neck, whispering “Give it to me. Give me your flesh.” And she does, and I bite harder, knowing she will wear my bruises for weeks.

She’s gasping, sobbing as I fuck her as hard as I can, shoving my cock deep, then deeper, my balls slapping her swollen mound. Then she’s coming again and I reach around to pinch her clit, making her scream in pain, in pleasure. Finally, I let loose, coming into her hot little body. Into her hot little cunt. Nothing has ever felt so damn good to me. Better and better, my orgasm going on forever as my come dumps into her. Fucking hell, but it’s good—so good I can hardly take it, the spasms like whips of fire snapping deep in my gut, in my balls as they draw up tight.

When it’s over my legs go out from under me and I collapse on top of her, both of us covered in sweat and dirt and sticky with come.

We’re both panting. I’m filled with a bursting joy at my victory. At the intensity of being in her body. At being the one to take her down, to command her. And I’m fucking tired of being the slave, and this shit is going to have to be over soon. But for now, my dick is still buried inside her, my body humming with one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had, so I really can’t complain. Well, except that it’s me. It’s more out of habit than anything. Not one of my more charming qualities, but I feel too damn good to care. And my mind is already churning with what will happen next. If they separate us, this slave shit
will
be over, contract or not, because I’m not fucking standing for it.

Faceless handlers arrive, and I’m only vaguely aware of the wrestling and fucking and flying dirt going on around us. The only thing I can focus on is Aimée. Two women have her, and it pleases me that they have to steady her, that she looks dazed and glassy-eyed. My teeth marks all over her neck please me even more.

We’re taken back to the enormous shower stall in the slave barn, along with a handful of other slaves. The handlers run the warm water, clean us up, tend to our wounds while we stand, quiet and worn out, on the concrete floor. My eyes are on her the entire time—I couldn’t care less what’s happening to me right now. She takes it all with her head slightly bowed, her body in a state of utter yielding. She is fucking made for this—being a slave. Except for that spark I see in her, which I can’t quite figure out. But I intend to. I don’t know why, but I need to.

The handlers hustle me out while Aimée’s injuries are still being tended to, and I growl and try to kick them away. One of them takes a strap to me, beating my chest and my thighs, but I hardly feel it.

Turning to one of them, I murmur seductively, “Why don’t you slap my dick with that thing? Then we might be getting somewhere.”

He looks taken aback, but from somewhere else in the shower area is a deep chuckle.

Victor.

“Ignore him,” he tells my handlers. “Let him piss and moan, if he has to. The Masters are exceptionally pleased with his performance today.”

I look over at him, and he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his massive chest, grinning, which pisses me off a little. I lurch toward him, but in two long strides he’s on me almost before I know what’s going on, and he grabs me and takes me down to the ground, Goddamn him. He has me on one knee, forcing my head lower, until my forehead touches the smooth floor.

“Don’t do it, Christopher,” he tells me. “Today could be a good day for you. Don’t fuck it up for once.”

He holds me there until my muscles relax, then he pulls me roughly to my feet. I look up at him, and he’s staring me down, but not in the way he usually does. He’s trying to tell me something. And after a few moments, I get it.

Okay. So maybe now is not the time to start any trouble—I have to keep track of Aimée. And Victor has let me know that’s possible if I can just keep my shit together and my bratty-ass mouth shut.

I grind my jaw tight. Victor steps away and the handlers hustle me out of there and down the barn’s long center hallway.

Here everything is clean and polished, unlike the livestock barn, where I’ve spent most of this visit. A team of slaves is mopping the floors on their knees, all of them fitted with pig snouts, short, curling tails protruding from between their buttocks. Sometimes I wonder why no one has ever thought to punish me in this way, in this style of absolute degradation. I know damn well I’ve deserved it on numerous occasions. But the handlers are shoving me into a stall and suddenly all I can think of, all I can see, is
her
.

She’s curled up on a pile of fresh hay, and with her long hair strewn about her, still damp from the shower, she looks even more naked, which I know is insane. But that’s what she does to me.

She looks up when I enter the stall, blinking, her long, long lashes coming down on her flushed cheeks. So damn fresh-faced, this girl, making me want to do every imaginable filthy thing to her, which is a lot, in my depraved mind. But I also want to see if she’s okay. I want to talk to her.

I am totally losing my shit. I know it. But so the fuck what? Who better to lose it over?

The handlers push me onto my knees, and I go down easily, my gaze still locked to hers. I let them close the metal shackle around one ankle. I can see that she’s chained up, too, the hard steel making her look fragile in a way that’s utterly hot.

I put up with the handlers’ presence while they water and feed us, not daring to talk to her until they go away. It’s not because I give a damn what they’ll think, or for their little punishments, but because what I have to say to her, what I want to hear from her, is our business.

Oh yeah, I can feel my slave-ness slipping away and my toppiness creeping in. Hell, it’s slamming into my system like a storm. I am only still here because of her. And I’m going into Top mode because of her, too. It’s like some crazed puzzle, with the pieces slipping in and out, weaving together, all perspective gone. My mind is like an Escher print, and even I can’t tell what’s up, and what’s down.

Finally, they step out of our stall and I feel a slow grin creep over my face as Aimée blinks at me with those gorgeous green eyes.

“And so it begins,” I say to her.

“I…I thought it already had. Out there in the arena.”

“That was nothing. Nothing compared to what I’d like to do to you, prettiness.”

“Oh…” Her lashes come down again, shadowing her high cheekbones. But when she glances back up, she’s smiling. “Did you arrange for us to share a stall?”

“Not really. I may have a sympathizer.”

Then she really does smile, her lovely face lighting up. “You were spectacular out there today. The way you ran everyone down, like you were on the football field.”