Found (3 page)

Alexander / Marc:

There were so many things to worry about. Jean-Luc hadn’t called. Hassan spoke English and this was a thing I hadn’t known, though we’d been visiting this particular bar for over three years. He would need to be investigated
.
I suspected that almost everything Rachel had told me was a lie, but then again, almost everything I’d said to her was a lie as well.

In the moment, I didn’t care about any of it. I just felt triumph and a bone-deep relief that she’d said
yes.

That mixture of fear and courage in her eyes spoke to something deep inside me. This woman had wounds. I did too. Perhaps that was it. Two people, both scarred, both not quite healed, searching for a shard of intimacy in the darkness of night.

***

The small house I took her to wasn’t far away. Though it too was part of my cover, this house was
more
. I’d bought it with the first bit of real money I’d earned by myself and it was important to me. I’d never taken a woman there before. In the early days, I’d been fighting for my own survival. Nowadays, the women I was occasionally seen with would have turned up their noses at the humble abode.

She looked around with interest and I saw the furnishings through her eyes. Everything was simple but each piece had been chosen for comfort. The walls were painted a cheerful Provencal yellow. If we walked through the kitchen and out the back, the garden would be fragrant with lavender bushes.

I hadn’t been to this house in months. The refrigerator would be devoid of food, but, in keeping with my French upbringing, there was always something to drink. “More wine?” I asked her. “Let’s head to the back?”

She’d put her hand on my knee as we’d driven here. I got the sense that she had to steel herself to make that move. I wasn’t in the habit of forcing myself on unwilling or reluctant women. Rachel did want me, but she also seemed afraid of something.

“That would be lovely,” she replied. “I think I can still taste that house wine.”

“Serves you right,” I chided, amused. “You made me drink the entire thing.”

“That’s how it works with truth or dare,” she reminded me.

I grabbed a couple of glasses and opened a bottle of another Cotes du Rhone white without looking at the label. Everything was spotlessly clean, thanks to the housekeeping crew that came in once a week to air out the house and keep it in good order. I poured two generous glassfuls and handed her one. “A toast?” I asked.

“To what?” Her voice was soft and breathy. A bedroom voice. My cock was instantly hard again. This woman was killing me.

“To secrets revealed.” I had no idea where those words came from. Honesty was an indulgence for someone in my position. Secrets were my stock in trade.

She took a sip. “Here’s a secret,” she held my gaze as she spoke. “I haven’t had sex in four years. Your turn.”

Four years? Was this the reason for the fear in her eyes?
“You are the first woman I’ve ever brought to this house.”

“My ex used to beat me during sex and I’m terrified of letting that happen again.”

Fuck
. I was the worst guy she could end up with. If she was telling the truth, she needed tenderness and sweetness, not the hard pounding dominance she was more likely to get from me. I should have told her to leave.

“Come sit on my lap,” I said instead. As we’d spoken, we’d wandered out to the garden and taken a seat without paying any attention to our surroundings. The air was perfumed with lavender. A profusion of wild roses bloomed everywhere. The lanterns flickering throughout the garden made the small space appear magical.  Yet I had eyes for only her.

“You aren’t running.” She got to her feet and came towards me. I swear, my heart actually thudded in my chest. This was ridiculous. Sex was a game, nothing more. My emotions never got involved.

“No.” My cock was about to explode as that sweet ass of hers descended onto my lap. I wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into me. I bent my head down towards her soft lips. “I’m not.”

Look, I was a guy. Kisses and foreplay were nice, but in the end, it was just a way to get to the good stuff. Her wet juicy cunt spasming around my dick. Her moans as I slammed into her body again and again. Her heat. The way she’d taste. The way her body would quiver as I took her, over and over. Her sweet voice chanting my name, as if it were a prayer.

But it wouldn’t be my name she’d be chanting. Marc was a figment of my imagination. He didn’t exist.

Everything was a lie. I hadn’t lived in this house for almost ten years. Once upon a time, I would have said that there was almost no greater pleasure than to feel the sun’s rays on my face while I sat out back and weeded, tending to each plant and rejoicing when they flourished under my care. In those days I’d been fragile, shaken by the revelations around who I really was. I’d needed comfort while I tried to determine my purpose in life.

Everything was different now. Gardeners tended to this garden, not me, not anymore
.
I was a key player in a dangerous game. There was no time for emotion and softness. There was no place in my life for the little sigh of pleasure she made as our mouths touched. I didn’t need to feel the way her lips parted and her tongue flicked tentatively against mine.  

“Stop,” I groaned. If my cock could talk, it would have bitch-slapped me at that point. There was a beautiful woman on my lap, she was kissing me and I was cock-blocking myself.

But I wasn’t a teenager anymore and I had fifteen specific reasons why I had to put all my cards on the table. Fifteen women, whose ruined lives haunted me every single day. “If you are looking for tender, I’m probably not your best bet.” God, those words actually caused me physical pain as I spoke them. But this was not a topic about which dishonesty was possible.

She pulled away from me. “Are you going to hurt me Marc?” Her green eyes were filled with lust. If there was fear it had retreated to the edges.

“If you want me to. It tends to be the way I play.”

“If I don’t want it that way, will you force me?”

Oh god no. Not that. Not ever. I was a child of rape. Force was the one thing that I would never, ever stoop to. “No, of course not.”

“Then,” she shot me a look, “shut up and kiss me.”

If she was my submissive, I’d have tied her down and made her come until she begged me to stop and promised never to sass me again. Since she wasn’t, I just bit her lower lip gently. “Who’s bossy now?” I asked her as I kissed those perfect lips. Her groan of pleasure vibrated against my mouth.  

My hand reached over her shirt to cup her breast and she groaned again. “Please…”

“Patience, Rachel. You’ve waited four years for this, what’s another hour or so?”

Her whimper of protest was music to me. She moved restlessly on my lap, her ass grinding against my cock. “The four years is precisely why I can’t wait another hour,” she muttered, her breath tickling my ear as she spoke.

I chuckled at that. “Fair point,” I conceded. I lifted her off my lap. “I’m going to take your t-shirt off.”

Ellie / Rachel:

I hadn’t expected to be okay. When I’d seen Marc at the bar and felt a frisson of attraction, I’d been determined to sleep with him and put an end to my ridiculous fear of sex. But I had expected to be afraid through the process.

I wasn’t afraid. Perhaps it was that his eyes had been warm, not cold. Perhaps it was because he had been friendly, ready to laugh and talk. Perhaps, because though his eyes had fallen once or twice to my body, he’d done it in a way that made me feel appreciated, not creeped out.

I wasn’t feeling tentative right now. I wasn’t tense; I wasn’t nervous. What I was, in this moment, was unbearably aroused.

“Are you going to ask permission for each item of clothing?” I teased. “Because this could take a while.”

He shot me an amused look that nonetheless was underlined with concern. “I tend to be dominant by default,” he replied. “But I’m trying to go slow.”

“Because I haven’t had sex in four years.”

He exhaled. “I like rough sex, Rachel. Soft and gentle isn’t quite my style. But if your ex used to beat you during sex, that isn’t what you need.”

Those words should have terrified me once again. But there’d been something in his eyes when I’d asked him if he would force me. Just for a second, an expression of total revulsion had crossed his face. I believed, even though I had no basis for my conviction, that if I was afraid and I wanted him to stop, he would. “Tell you what,” I leaned in and spoke into his ear. My breasts brushed against his arm and at the muted groan in his throat, I rubbed against him again. “If I want you to stop, I promise I’ll tell you. If I’m afraid, I’ll voice it. But in the meanwhile, I’m not going to break. I’m not fragile.”

He eyed me speculatively. I met his gaze squarely. Finally, his lips twitched. “In that case, bright star,” he said to me, “take off your clothes.”

“Here?” I looked around at the back yard. I could hear sounds of life in the neighboring houses. Televisions blared and dogs barked. Children cried loudly. The backyard was fenced and we couldn’t be seen. But we were surrounded by people who could hear us, the same way I could hear them.

“Would you prefer if it was a dare?” he inquired with a wicked, panty-melting grin. Oh, he was enjoying this a little too much. I took a fortifying sip of the chilled wine and pulled my t-shirt over my head.

I heard his breath catch. His eyes filled with heat. “Let me guess,” I joked, using humour as a momentary retreat from the intensity of his gaze, “jogging bras really turn you on.”

He chuckled, though his eyes remained serious. “Take it off.” He took a sip of wine as well as he waited for me to comply.

This was it. The moment of truth.

I’d been ordered to strip so many times by my former master. Every single time I had obeyed instantly, terrified of the consequences of disobedience. Now though, my hesitation was something else. As I looked into Marc’s blue eyes, I felt a little shy and very eager to please.  

The jogging bra came off. Before he could instruct me, I hooked my fingers around the waistband of my track pants, pushing them down along with my panties. Stepping out of them, I looked at him. “What next?” I was astonished that my voice was steady.

“Next time,” he chided, “wait for permission to take off each garment.” He smiled. “I do like that you are in a hurry, Rachel. Come here.”

I took a step forward and my knees bumped against him. He got to his feet smoothly. His hands slid up the sides of my hips, locking around my waist. I squealed as he lifted me and set me down on the glass-topped table in front of us. I lay there on my back, my legs dangling off the edges, struggling not to giggle. “What are you doing?” I squeaked.

“What do you think?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. He sat back down between my legs and his hands closed around my knees. “Spread your legs for me, Rachel.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand and I complied instantly, shivering in anticipation as I did so. No one had ever done this to me and I was deeply, profoundly glad that the first thing this gorgeous man did was an act that would be untainted by any painful memories.

He bent his head forward with a growl of pleasure. His stubble grazed against my inner thighs and I groaned. “Oh god yes,” I hissed, throwing my head back and surrendering to the sensations that simple touch had caused.

He chuckled and the sound vibrated close to my core. “Keep it down, Rachel,” he advised. “I do have neighbors.”

I didn’t think I cared. I lurched forward into him, almost shoving my pussy in his face. I could feel how wet I was. My nipples were hard and erect. Tremors of desire wracked my body.

“Four years,” he muttered as his tongue flicked out and touched me. “I’m quite honoured.” Then he stopped talking. His mouth covered my pussy and only pleasure was left.

How could one even describe being on the receiving end of this particular sex act? He started slow. His tongue traced small, light circles around my clitoris until my hips were thrusting into the air, desperate for more stimulation. Then, two fingers entered my pussy in one fluid motion and I felt my core clench around him.

“Please…” I begged him. I didn’t know what I was pleading for. I only knew that I never wanted this moment to end.

“I’ve got you, baby.” His voice was calm and reassuring even as his fingers moved within me, causing my body to overheat dangerously. I was careening out of control towards my orgasm. I just needed him to press down on me a little more.

I whimpered and moaned and thrust into his face; he maintained his languid, leisurely pace. His strong hands held my legs open when I writhed and tried to flinch away from the extreme pleasure. When he moved his chin over that tight bundle of nerves and his stubble rubbed against me, I shrieked, unmindful of the neighbors. “Please…” I hissed out. “I can’t take this.”

“Yes you can.” His voice didn’t allow argument. “Let yourself go, Rachel.”

Rachel. The fake name screeched against my ear. I wanted him to call me Ellie, but that wasn’t allowed.
Too much was at stake.

His fingers pushed into me and I arched off the table. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over me as his tongue licked and strummed. I could hear my breathing, harsh and heavy. I struggled to keep quiet and not scream out as I drowned in utter joy.

This wasn’t my first orgasm. My body had sometimes responded to Dylan’s fingers or cock, though my mind had not. But this was the first orgasm in six years that I didn’t hate myself for having.

I leaned forward and rested my hands on his shoulders and his tongue slowed, taking long licks as I shuddered back to sanity. “Wow,” I said finally. I couldn’t mask the tone of awed surprise in my voice. “That was… amazing.”

He sat up with a smile, pulling me onto his lap. I snuggled against him, burrowing my face into his neck. My fingers traced the outline of his erection, clearly outlined against his trousers. “I should take care of you,” I whispered. I moved to get up and slide down on my knees. I’d pleasured many men with my mouth; I knew what to do.

His hand tightened against my waist. “There’s no hurry,” he said quietly. “We have all night.”

I tried to ignore the truth that would confront me in the morning.
I had just this one night.
Tomorrow morning, Marc and I would go our separate ways. I tried to ward off the pain that spiralled through me at that thought and I pushed it to the dark recesses of my mind.

It would not do to dwell on what I could and could not have. I had one night. Entirely unexpectedly, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t panicking. My lack of fear was a gift I could have never expected to receive. For me to expect more, to want more? That would be the purest form of greed.

“Why are we wasting time talking?” I said. “Let me please you.”

He wrapped his fingers around my cheek and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips. It was such an intimate feeling. “You do please me,” he said quietly as he straightened. “You don’t have to take my cock down your throat just because I made you come.”

“No one has ever done that for me,” I confessed in a whisper. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

His body stiffened for a second. “No one?”

I shook my head. I was telling him too much, too many intimate secrets. But he was a stranger in the night and tomorrow morning, I would be gone. It didn’t matter.

“Your exes were idiots,” he said flatly. “Come with me, bright star. Let’s go find a bed and explore all the things you’ve never experienced.”

Every single time he called me
bright star
, my heart ached a little bit. Because only lovers used pet names and we were strangers that could only spend one night together.

***

He carried me up the stairs to a small bedroom and set me down on the middle of the bed. “I want you again,” he growled. “The taste of you is seared into my mind, Rachel and I can’t get enough of it.” He positioned himself between my legs. Oh god, he intended to repeat that earth-shattering experience. I groaned aloud. I was not strong enough to withstand it.

“Marc,” I protested. “I want to touch you too. Besides,” I pointed to his body, “we have a problem here. You have too many clothes on.”

He winked at me. “Your wish is my command,” he said. He unbuttoned his shirt and I feasted my eyes on him, openly ogling as his hard chest came into view. Little curls of light brown hair covered his torso and I wanted to sink my fingers into him and touch and kiss every inch of his body.

“Come here,” I demanded.

“This is when you would typically get spanked for that tone,” he said in response. He took off his trousers, his eyes on my face, watching for any sign of fear.

I couldn’t quite understand why I wasn’t afraid. “Why aren’t you doing it then?” I challenged.

He smiled, those dimples deepening. “Next time,” he promised. “I’ll spank you. For the moment,” he took off his briefs, and his cock sprang out, hard and ready, “I just want to do this.”

This
was getting into bed next to me, every inch of his body coming in contact with mine.
This
was his fingers curving around my breasts, his tongue teasing a nipple.
This
was pleasure, almost unbearable in its intensity.

He hadn’t even touched my pussy yet.
I might have been in over my head.

My fingers reached out of their own accord and touched him. They traced every bit of corded muscle in his biceps. They danced a path down his rock-hard abs. And when his breathing grew heavy, I laughed aloud with glee. I’d been trained to bring a man to arousal. This was the first and only time in my life that I received any pleasure from knowing that.

“What are you doing to me, bright star?” he groaned.

“Exploring. Marc, please let me?”

He sucked in his breath. “I do like how prettily you ask.” His eyes were fiery with desire and I wanted to touch him
everywhere.
“But Rachel, lie back. I want more of you first.”

I didn’t obey, not exactly. I lay back as I was told, but for each caress of his fingers against mine, I stroked him back. Each kiss of his lips got one of mine in exchange. We ground against each other with abandon, just surrendering to pleasure.

His mouth lowered over one of my nipples. “Please,” I begged him, arching my chest towards him. He smiled at me and took the peak in his mouth, never taking his eyes off me. “Harder,” I groaned as his tongue flicked against that bud.

He raised his eyebrows. “You sure you don’t like your sex rough, bright star?” he asked me wryly.

Everything screeched to a stop at those words. I did. Oh god, I really did like my sex rough. Since I’d avoided men and anything resembling a sexual situation, I had failed to realize that this was the outcome of Dylan’s harsh training. My body responded to pain. As much as I wanted them to, gentle caresses didn’t do anything for me. My pussy dripped when Marc’s fingers tweaked my nipples hard. When his teeth nipped at me, I writhed, consumed with overpowering desire.

I needed pain to find pleasure. I wondered if I’d been afraid of this realization, if I’d secretly suspected this truth about myself but had wanted to deny it. Because to admit it would be to admit that Dylan had had an
impact
on my life. All I wanted to do was to seek my revenge.