Sympathy For The Devil (21 page)

Her brief moment of hesitation, he knew, came from never having done this before, to acclimating to their changed roles. She hadn’t completely let go yet, hadn’t given herself to him, even if she thought she had. “Please,” she said. “Please let me come.”

“You will when I tell you to and not a second before. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Her entire body shuddered under his touch, thrusting two fingers in and out of her as he brought the belt down on her ass again. Heat radiated from the crimson marks on her skin, from the sweet spot between her legs. His aching dick strained his jeans, jerking at the sight of her primed and ready for him to take his pleasure. An intense craving overcame him, one he reined in lest he lose the control he so carefully kept coiled.

He leaned to the side to watch her face. Her head was bowed, damp curls falling forward. Eyes squeezed shut. Biting her lip against his onslaught. She was holding on, tight—trying to obey, to keep from coming.

“Not yet,” he commanded and she winced, her brow furrowed in concentration. He’d lose her soon, but he wanted to push her to the brink, to see how far she could go.

Natasha sobbed, clinging to the rail. He pulled his fingers from her, swept them up and down her slit, swirling around her clit as he lightly slapped the belt against her ass.

It was too much. He knew it almost immediately as she bucked, let out a scream, and then slumped forward. She panted, trembled. Then little by little she came back to herself, shifting to look over her shoulder at him with wide eyes as she realized she’d disobeyed him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Natasha trembled and a blush rose in her anew. Her pants were down, ass was up in the air, and, oh hell, they were on his
porch
. How the hell did this keep happening to her?

And, worse still, she hadn’t been able to stave off the orgasm that had been bearing down on her and now realization settled in, taking a hold of her.

She couldn’t decipher the look he gave her, whether he was angry or what. She twisted, scrambling to pull up her pants. “I’m sorry—”

“Did I tell you to dress?”

Ice ran through her, freezing her in place. Her gaze darted from his eyes to the leather belt in his hand.
Oh shit.

“Did I
tell you
to dress?” he repeated.

No, sir
. That was what she was supposed to say, but she couldn’t make the words come out. All she knew was that she wanted to get into her car and the hell away from him.

Saying nothing, instead she jerked up her panties and jeans anyway.

Archer took a step toward her and she panicked, backing up, hitting the rail. As he reached for her, she screamed and grasped the railing, scrambled up and over it. She landed hard on the other side, her sneakers sinking into mud. The rail creaked behind her and she ran—ran before he could catch her as she knew he was following.

She got just four steps toward her car, the rain soaking her almost immediately, when she slipped. The soles of her shoes kicked at the soft grass and mud streaked across her pants as she scrambled up. She’d barely gotten to her feet before his hand latched onto her arm.

A scream left her throat as she fought his vise-like grip. She slid in the mud as he pulled her back, yanked her into his arms. His hands grasped her wrists, held her facing him, and she couldn’t get away.

“Apologize,” he barked.

Shaking from the rain and fear, she stared up at him, blinking through water in her eyes. His dark, dark blue eyes met hers, held hers, seemed to communicate. He did nothing to her, said nothing, but gave her a meaningful look.

She hadn’t said it yet, had she? Her own name, her safe word. Realization softened her expression and he nodded, waited. Gave her a chance to stop it.

Say your name. Say your name and get the hell out of here.

Natasha. It was so easy. One little word and all of it would end. But though the idea of getting in her car and driving back to town, of forgetting all about this, was quite appealing...she craved something else entirely.

“I-I’m sorry. Sir.” Tash held her breath.

Devin leaned closer, holding her gaze, his nose brushing hers. “Let go,” he whispered.

Let go. Let go and be his, for this moment—let him bring her pleasure without worrying or stressing. Let go of her responsibilities and just
feel
.

Natasha let out a breath, softening in his hands. “Yes, sir.” Weight seemed to lift from her shoulders as she accepted this, knew she had the power to stop things but that, despite all logic, she trusted him.

He kissed her and she melted in to him, letting him take control of her. He pushed her hands together, and she felt the damp leather of his belt as he wrapped it around to lash her wrists.

A thrill went through her at the feeling. Sure, she’d been cuffed as an unruly teen when arrested, but that was it. She’d never experienced this before, never felt the confining bite of being bound.

He lifted her and her legs wrapped around his waist. She felt them moving but she didn’t look, just tipped her head back as his lips grazed her throat. The rain striking her face ceased and the porch creaked under his steps. The squeaky screen door sounded and moments later his boots echoed on hardwood. They slammed against the door inside the house, her body pinned and unable to move, and he kissed her hard again.

He broke the kiss, eased her onto her feet. “You exist now for my pleasure,” he said against her lips.

You’ll call me ‘sir’. And you’ll beg. And you’ll thank me when I make you come.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Whatever you want, sir.”

He stepped back and she went with him, then he put pressure on her shoulders, urging her down. She gave in, falling to her knees on the damp hardwood in front of him, eyelevel with his hidden erection.

She bit her lip, looked purposely at the denim-covered shaft in front of her, then back up at him as rain rolled from her hairline into her eyes.
Remember your role in this.
“May I, sir?”

He brushed the hair from her eyes, drew his thumb down across her lower lip. She kissed the tip, swirling her tongue around the end, until he withdrew it.

“May you what?”

“May I suck your cock, sir?” She blushed hard at the words, the feel of them coming from her mouth both foreign and arousing.

Her bound hands remained clutched to her chest as she waited while he drew down the fly of his jeans. Her gaze moved back up his torso to flirt with his eyes a moment before sweeping down again—he wore another black T-shirt, and the rain had made it cling to his skin, showing every defined muscle. She long to see him, see all of him. But for now, she looked back straight ahead, watched as he pulled down the front of his jeans, then his boxers, and his full length was exposed to her.

His cock seemed impossibly long and thick, powerful. He gripped her chin with one hand and tilted her head up, positioned the tip of his erection at her lips with the other.

“Suck,” he said in a low, guttural voice as he fed his cock to her. “Now.”

She opened her mouth and took him in, immediately running her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She surrendered to him, let him move his rigid length in and out of her mouth, enjoyed the pleasure she saw in his eyes. The logical part of her brain told her she should find this wrong, that she should feel devalued, used, embarrassed. But he’d given her bliss and now she wanted to give that to him, to watch his eyes go hazy with lust.

She laved her tongue over the thick dome head of his cock, took the rest in as far as it could go. Her knees were cold, soaked through from kneeling on the ground, but the rest of her body was hot. Despite climaxing minutes ago, her pussy clenched, craving more. Both of his hands locked on her head, moving her until she wasn’t so much sucking his cock as he was fucking her mouth.

He pulled out suddenly, kept her head at bay with one hand as he reached into his back pocket. A foil condom wrapper crinkled.

Thank
God
, he was going to fuck her at last.

Tash backed up, waiting, wiggling. The front of her jeans hung open and he’d have easy access to her. He knelt in front of her and gave her a brutal kiss. She didn’t care where they were, didn’t look around at the farmhouse foyer around them, nor did she hear the rain hammering against the windows or remember the grim gray day going on around them—everything disappeared but for him and his will.

He pushed her onto her back, roughly pulled her jeans and underwear down, and settled between her thighs. Again he kissed her, holding her bound wrists over her head. She flexed her fingers, wishing she could tear at his T-shirt, feel him under her hands.

Devin had no such impediment, freely roaming his hand between them to push up her shirt and claim her breast. She writhed beneath him as his cock ran up and down her slit, pushing against her clit and not entering her yet.

“This time,” he nipped her lower lip, “you will be punished if you disobey.”

“Yes.” She tipped her head back, her hips surging forward, encouraging him to enter her at last.

He left her bound wrists over her head, reached down with both hands and pushed her thighs open wider. Her eyes met his as he leaned over her. When he looked down, she looked down, seeing his cock sink into her waiting, accepting pussy at last.

She bucked as his thumb drew circles around her clit, groaned as his mouth came down on her breast, sucking her nipple between his teeth. She still felt the sting from his belt on her ass and her entire body throbbed, both with exhaustion and excitement. The sensation was almost too much to bear.

He set the pace immediately and all she could do was follow, obey. She lifted her hips to meet his every thrust, braced her feet on the slippery hardwood to give her purchase until he slung one knee over his arm, widening her more. The continued touch on her clit set fire to her veins and she breathed deeply, holding back, lest she anger him again. Floorboards were hard and unyielding at her back as he pounded between her legs, giving her no way to escape the onslaught even if she wanted to. One hand still over her mound, the other rubbing the stiffened peak of her nipple, Devin stared down at her.

“You’re close?” he asked.

She nodded then thought the better of it. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ll wait.”

Again, she nodded.

He doubled his efforts, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her. It took all of her concentration to keep climax at bay even as warmth swelled and orgasm built. He was right over her, reading everything on her face, still thumbing her clit as he pistoned in and out of her.

“Beg,” he commanded.

She writhed, losing all sense of her mind completely and just let herself
feel
. “Please let me come, sir. Oh God,
please
.”

“Now,” he whispered and like a switch had flipped, she came
hard
. Her pussy clenched around his cock and she screamed, writhing wildly beneath him as rapture flooded her system. He plunged into her repeatedly, unrelenting, his movements going more and more erratic until a groan swelled in his throat and he was right there with her, calling out his release.

Drained, he slumped down on her, his face buried against her neck. Tash panted, her arms still thrust over her head, bound in his rainwater-slick leather belt. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think, just shut her eyes and let him cover her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, remembering the last part of what he’d told her.

Devin moved over her, pulling out and dragging her awareness back to him. “Stay for a drink.”

She blinked and looked around them. Puddles scattered across the floor along with dirt, and her clothes were soaked and muddy. “And maybe a shower.”

He was already pulling the belt from her wrists, his touch much more gentle than she would’ve expected after
that
. Perhaps he sensed she was sore all over as he scooped her up in his arms, helped her rise. “That too. Come on, darlin’.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Devin was downstairs boiling water for tea and he’d promised a hot meal as well. Tash stood upstairs running a bath, looking around the tiny tiled room while she waited for the tub to fill. It didn’t look like any of his renovations had carried upstairs yet; the tub’s shower curtain rail needed to be fixed and some tiles were chipped and broken. Still, she loved the old farmhouse—it reminded her of the one she’d grown up in, before her parents split and she bounced between a duplex and a condo.

Her clothes were a wreck. Her shoes and socks had been left downstairs already. Mud had hardened on her T-shirt and jeans, and she made a hell of a mess as she peeled them off, flecks of dirt ending up all over the old white floor and fluffy bathmat. Bra and panties went next, and she left the pile on the toilet. A thin veil of steam wafted up from the bath, and she turned off the tap before climbing in.

Pure, warm bliss waited for her, enveloping her as she sank into it. Immediately she brushed off the dirt that had found its way onto her skin, her hands exploring the odd spot where fresh bruises rose. A few on her lower legs had come from bounding through the creek that morning, but the new ones along her thighs came from narrow hips ramming them again and again.

She blushed and leaned back, submerging herself up to her neck and closing her eyes. Curly tendrils of hair trailed in the water below her jaw. She’d need to clean her hair but hadn’t asked about shampoo. For now she simply relaxed. It had been an incredibly long, exhausting day, and she didn’t particularly want to think.

Of course, thoughts plagued her anyway. She’d have to sit down with Adam, return his money, and tell him she was officially off
his
case. Then pick up a few others to keep the business afloat while figuring out precisely what she’d do about Devin Archer and the police.