Wrecked (The Blackened Window) (45 page)

“Do
not
fucking get involved with Stacy again. Leda seems like a nice enough girl and I hope it works, but if she isn’t enough for you, don’t tumble back into that hell hole with Stacy.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mom. I’m not gonna fuck Stacy tonight. In fact, I’m gonna go fuck Leda. Right now. For the third time today. She’s enough for me.”

“You looked awfully chummy with Stacy. How do you think Leda feels about that? How do you think Stacy’s father feels about that?” She dug her nails into the back of my neck, and didn’t even seem to care about my vulgarity about sex with Leda.
Shoulda known. Nothing changes.

“Okay, Mom. That’s enough.” I let the Dom voice out a bit and she retracted her claws from my neck, shrank a bit in my arms. I pulled away, a warning in my eyes.

She smiled and touched my cheek, ever the performer. “Just be careful, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” I kissed her cheek, for the show more than any true affection I was feeling at that moment.

She and Leda exchanged hugs and air kisses and Happy New Years’. Bitsy laughingly asked Leda how bad the rope was chafing after spending the evening at the party.
Jesus Christ. Time to go.

In the elevator, I held Leda in front of me, leaning back on me, with the excuse of rubbing her shoulders. I really just needed a few minutes to clear my head before being back with her. I tried to let go of the swirl of shit that party had put in my mind, but couldn’t. And Leda’s skin was there in front of me, looking so delectable, creamy, lickable.

Before I really decided to start fucking with her in the elevator, my hand was climbing into her hair, grasping her, arching her back toward me. I tilted her head back and up to get easy access to her the warm, soft spot just below her ear. I licked a few times then bit. She tensed then softened into me.

The tension of the night melted out of me, morphed into something else. Something potent, virile, taut and tight. I felt mindlessly possessive of her. She was mine, to do with as I wanted. And I wanted to scare her.

Chapter Forty

Leda

Rammstein,
Stripped

“Okay, Boss.” That got his attention as we entered our room. “What now?”

He turned toward me, unbuttoning his collar and his cuff links.
Damn, that’s sexy.

“What now, she wants to know? When do I ever tell you what’s coming?” His veil of domliness descended over him and his tension faded. Whatever there was with his parents and Stacy and just about everyone else here, he let it go. He held me close to him, running his fingers up and down my nearly bare back, tracing the curve of my ass.

“This dress is nice, little girl. But the heels were too high.” He found my side zipper and pulled it down, sliding it off my shoulders, over my hips. He knelt to help me step out of it. I was left in the fancy midnight blue corseted style bra with garters attaching to my thigh high stockings. My panties were a matching g-string.

“Mmmmm, this is sexy, Leda.” He leaned against me, face against my abdomen. His breath was a warm rush across my skin.

“I thought so.” I ran my fingers through his hair. He stood slowly and my hand fell away.

He dropped his head down to kiss me. It was almost chaste. But after a few moments, his lips started moving, his tongue slipped out and traced the curve of my lips. I opened my lips, letting him in, and I was lost to the sensation of him. His body pressed against me, fully dressed against my lace and satin. He slipped his hands down under my ass and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around him and the shifting reignited the fire that had been banked away for the duration of the party. All the want and need and frustration of our earlier play came throbbing back through my body. I whimpered against his lips and my kisses became more impatient.

He placed his knee on the bed and leaned forward, laying me down under him. But just kept kissing me, stroking his fingertips over my jawline, my collarbone. He wasn’t acting like himself. Usually by now, I was stripped, at least of torn panties. He would usually be growling something vaguely terrifying and simultaneously thrilling in my ear. But he was so gentle now. I squirmed under him, hoping to remind him how much he liked using my whole body, or at least to get a small bit of friction.

“Xander,” I breathed into his mouth. “Please, I need you.”

He kissed my cheek, then down to my neck, and under my ear. “You
need
me? For what, little girl?” he whispered, almost to the point of being inaudible.

“I need to feel you. I’m dying here. Please, stop…”

He stilled his mouth and hands on me. “Stop?” He propped up on one elbow to see my face.

“No! Not stop. I mean stop this…this…this…” I trailed off, not sure I could finish the sentence.

He smiled, knowingly. He knew I wanted more intensity, rougher sex. He raised an eyebrow. He wanted me to say it.

“I want more,” I started, then faltered. I gathered my I-don’t-give-a-fuck-if-you-think-I’m-a-whore courage and said, “I want you to fuck me like you usually do, rougher, harder. You’re being so gentle. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

A grin spread across his face, and it gradually become more and more evil and depraved looking. A chill ran through me, lingering between my shoulder blades. He just watched me a moment more. Then, he pulled a switchblade from his pocket and opened it in front of my face. I gasped, all my sexual excitement rapidly cooling to plain fear.

He saw the glimmer of true fear in my eyes and hummed appreciatively. “That looks good on you.”

My thoughts ran in circles.

A fucking knife? Oh my God!

Xander would never actually hurt me.

But…a fucking knife.

He could have killed me a bunch of times, really.

Past non-psycho behavior does not preclude the possibility of current psycho behavior, especially because… A fucking knife!

Yellowyellowyellowyelllow!

I know he saw the fear rushing through me as he dropped the tip of the blade between my breasts and started tracing it down toward my pussy.

As he moved it, not pressing, just scraping, he said, “I’ve gotten sick of wrestling with your clothes and tearing off your panties. I decided to start cutting them off you now.” The tip of the knife was at my pelvis and shifted to the side, under the thin strap and slipped right through it. He did the same on the other side, grabbed the middle of my panties and yanked them out from under me. He then, very deliberately, placed the ruined panties and the knife on the bedside table. I released my breath.

“You scared me,” I said, my voice a little shaky.

“Did I, pet?” He murmured as he situated himself over me again. “I meant to scare you a little. Such a good girl, but that fear in your eyes gets me so hard.” He ground his rock-hard business into my pubic bone. And just like that, the need slammed back into me, weaving with the fear and adrenaline, triggering a mental overload.

“Oh fuck, Xander. Please fuck me, or let me fuck myself for you. I need to come. It’s too much. I need it, please?”

He dropped his head into the crook of my neck and licked and bit me. His fingers spread my lips open and stroked into my wetness. As I started gyrating my hips around with the rhythm of his movements, he propped up on his other elbow and looked at my face, just watching me as my fire built up. He smiled as he slowed his movements. I could feel the wetness and the tightness in my pussy. I looked at him with mutiny in mind.

“Call me Sir. No one else but me, ever.”

I hesitated. It felt weird. Like one more degree of we-are-not-equals, but…well, we weren’t really, at least during sex. He led. I followed. Or perhaps more accurately, he guided me where he wanted me to be.

“Just ask me pretty, Leda, and I’ll make you feel good.”

My eyes wide, I whispered, “Please, Sir. Please fuck me.”

He smiled a dirty smile, a smile that said ‘I just accomplished one more level of dominating you, degrading you, owning you’. That look alone made me feel small and anchored and real. He knelt up on the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it and his undershirt off. His body was perfect. Fit, tight, but not overly muscled.

“Say it again, little girl.”

My eyes glazed slightly with tears of mortification. My voice quavered a bit, but I did it. “Please, Sir. I need you.”

He unbuckled his belt and laid it next to me as he stood and finished getting undressed.

“Flip over and put your hands behind your back.” His voice was hard, solid, unflinching.

I twisted and flipped and, before I was settled, he had a hold of my wrists. He pulled my arms farther back, stretching my shoulders. He gripped my arms and wrapped his belt around me, just above the elbows. He tightened it down hard till it pinched my skin. As he tightened it, I felt the tip of his cock brush against my ass, and knowing that he was so close to fucking me made my pussy quiver and tighten. He reached under me, and pulled me up so that I was balanced on my knees, face, chest and shoulders.

“Turn toward me, sweetheart. I want to see your face.”

I turned and saw that he had a riding crop. Another flurry of fear ran through me, even as my pussy spasmed down again.

“Yep,” he said, almost to himself. “That was the look I wanted to see.” And he snapped it against my ass. It was sharp and stinging, but not horrible. As the sting faded, gooey warmth spread around from the site of impact. I moaned, closing my eyes.

He snapped it against me a few more times, less than ten but more than five. I lost the singular sensation of each strike and the warmth and sting and burn all started to run together. When he stopped, I was moaning and tears ran from my eyes.

“Please, Xander.” I looked back over him, just in time to catch him pulling his arm back to spank me. The impact of the smack over the warm stinging sensation of the crop, it was too much. I let out a sob.

“What are you calling me now?”

“Sir. Sir. I’m sorry,” I choked it out. His face reflected satisfaction, accomplishment, and hunger as he shifted behind me and slammed his cock into me. I turned my face slightly and screamed into the mattress.

He pounded at me, pulling at the angle of my hips as I moaned and screamed into the blankets. As I settled into the rhythm and the force, he shifted forward and grabbed his belt between my elbows. He pulled back, lifting my upper body off the mattress. It was sort of terrifying, feeling suspended in space, knowing that he could drop me at any time, even if it would only be a short fall into a soft mattress. My shoulders pulling back and the resultant shift in my torso made my breath feel tighter. Each breath was raspy and fast. My eyes settled on the charm of the necklace he had given me, where it rested on the mattress below me.

I watched it, knowing it marked me as his, as surely as his cock inside me did. And it was everything I wanted in the moment. I felt myself, my very sense of self, melting away, just a puddle of girl under him. It felt amazing. It felt like what I suspected heaven would feel like, like peace, better than peace—contentment and absolute understanding of my place in the world, of my meaning and purpose.

After what felt like a very short time, he flipped me onto my back, my arms under me, making me lean to one side. He barely broke his rhythm and was pounding back into me again, looking at me. Watching me. He scowled a tight grimace, almost like pain. He pushed my knees up, his hands hooked behind my knees and pressing me in half. But he still kept pounding into me. My pussy was wet, but was starting to get sore as well. It was certainly getting roughly used.

He brought my knees closer together and switched his hands around so that his left hand pressed against the back of my left thigh and his elbow crossed to press into my right thigh. He squeezed his right hand between us and started thumbing my clit. I bucked against him, involuntarily, gasping.

“Fucking take it, Leda.” He growled. I couldn’t see his face, but even his voice seemed different. Tighter, rawer.

“Yes, Sir. Please, just more. More please.” My words tumbled from my mouth, nearly incoherent.

Pressing my legs again, he leaned back and spit onto his fingertips, dripping it down onto my open pussy. More lube for us. He rubbed his wet fingers over my clit more. The rush of sensations was a staggered assault to my brain. It was too much and exactly perfect, at the same time. My world was him—the ache in my arms, the aching pleasure of getting fucked like this, the shards of it shooting from my clit, his rasping breath. I moaned again and it lingered, almost one continuous moan for the next few minutes.

“That’s a good little fucktoy. My good little girl.”

Oh, Jesus.

A knot of tightening pleasure choked out all thought. My sounds became more frantic and he leaned forward, still pressing my clit, but holding my legs back with his body. He brought his now-freed left hand out and held it over my mouth.

“Come for me, right now, but don’t make a fucking sound.”

My wide eyes locked with his, but I held my breath as his next pulsation on my clit sent me over the edge into swirling, mind-rending pleasure, obliterated to everything but him. A few seconds later, he grunted and ground his hips down into my pelvis, flattening into my clit again, triggering more shards of the sweetest agony to shoot through me.

I panted against him, hard to breathe being bent in half with his weight pushing down on me and his hand pressing over my mouth. I turned my head and he moved his hand, but nothing else. Gasping shudders rippled through my body. He levered his body off me, slipping out of me wetly, and flopped down on the mattress beside me. We both panted for a few minutes, recovering.

After a brief rest, he efficiently untied me and we both got ready for bed. He made sure I had some sips of water and offered to help me get snuggled into a new, surprise set of pajamas—thick, satiny drawstring pants and a gauzy camisole, in a lovely slate gray that he said matched my eyes. But I didn’t want to be clothed. I wanted my skin on his skin, even in my sleep. I wanted to have my flesh there for him, even when we slept. He smiled and kissed me, telling me that I was a miracle, as I settled into the bed. I fell asleep almost immediately, nestled into his side, as he fiddled with his smartphone next to me in the dark.