Yield (10 page)

I felt heat unfurl and swell, low in my stomach, as surely as if he were already doing filthy, dirty things to me.

“I...” I began, then I halted, confused.

I couldn’t fool myself. This excited me.

If I was sick, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be cured.

I stopped resisting and let him drag my hand downward. With our combined fists, he put pressure on my clit for a few leisurely circular motions. He let go but surprised me with one last encouraging press that drew a gasp from me. The sneak of the skirt up my right thigh told me he was inching it upward. I considered my options again, but my thinking blurred the instant he tugged aside my panties and slid his thick finger along my slit.

“You’re wet again,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You bastard.” An automatic objection. A second later, I parted my thighs another half inch. In that moment, I was a wanton slut.

Whether he heard my words or not, he casually slipped that finger into me. Then he fucked me for a few strokes. One place high inside became a hot button to fun.
Zing.
I swallowed a choking noise and tried not to move as a wave of
ohmigod
spread.
Hold it in. Hold.
Oh, oh god.
I arched up an inch.
Back fucking down. Into the seat.

I was clutching the seat to either side.

Maybe I had a G-spot after all.

“Did you call me a bastard?”

What? I blinked madly under the taped over sunglasses. Nothing but blackness there, and
him
, touching me, him inside my pussy, with another man a few feet away.
Please keep flying. Don’t look.

And why did he ask that? Yes, I had. So?

His finger sucked out, slowly, my pussy muscles clamping on it like they could keep it there as a hostage. I bit back a giggle. I was aching so much to have him back in me. Beg?
No. Absolutely no
.

But I wanted. I wanted that finger so much. This time I did giggle at the absurdity.

“Giggling? You need punishment. You don’t get to call me a bastard, Miss Wren.” A drawled threat.

Psssh.
“Live with it,” I muttered, feeling daring, as if I’d climbed a mountain for the first time. The adrenalin high was awesome. The pilot hadn’t shifted in his seat. Or I hadn’t heard him do so. As long as he didn’t have some strategically positioned mirror, I was safe.

Glass pushed apart my legs again. There was something else down there, between my legs that wasn’t his hand. Something hard but the size of his finger...no, bigger, probing for my entrance. I squirmed away, or tried to, but he increased the force, screwing it upward while the base of his hand rested heavily on my mons. My clit and the top of my thighs – where his hand had trapped and pinched some skin – hurt and throbbed, all at once.

“No!” I said in a strident whisper. “No.”

“I fuck you, or this does.”

“Wait.” The thing moved inward a half inch, pressing back my walls with its ungiving hardness. A plastic or metal something. Not a dildo. It was too inflexible. I clenched my hand on his wrist and tried to pluck it away with pure strength. I failed. I dug in nails.

All done on the quiet, without abrupt movements. With my face still.

“Stop, Wren. Put your hands on the seat. Now.” When he said
now
his tone lowered, like he was on his last tether.

The plane droned on. Without sight, our little scene seemed as obvious as a play on a stage. Maybe not. Be
shush
.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Yet I had my palms on the seat as I spoke, as he wriggled the thing further in. I was a little scared. Not knowing what it was, left too much to my imagination.

I’m Wren Gavoche, I could buy a thousand of these planes, and here I am letting him do this to me?

I did know why. I did. The deeper me knew. Because letting him do this bound us together like a vine around a tree. Like a captive princess and a black prince or a damsel in a dark dungeon with her torturer. If he needed to punish me, I needed to be his victim. Win...win...lose, in some weird ever-tightening circle.

He seated the thing in me all the way. Poked his finger up and shoved one last time to make sure then removed his finger. The thing had disappeared up there. My entrance had closed. Deeper in, the rest of my pussy clenched down on the bitch thing so tightly it hurt. Was this a glass dildo? But no. It had an end. Too short. All of it was up there.

I turned my head, praying he was there, listening. “Now, please? Take it out?”

He patted me lightly, then tidied up my panties, but he left his hand between my thighs, as if claiming my pussy. His thumb tip brushed across my clit in a barely there way. “It’s staying inside you until we land.”

Fuck. Really?

The feathery touches of his thumb distracted me, until arousal made me clamp down again then I felt
it
. Rigid. A painful and foreign thing.

I turned down my mouth. “Not fair. Or nice.”

“Next time don’t cock tease or swear at me. Keep your hands where they are. Be good.”

That male rumbling monotone giving me little orders was something that sneaked in under my hard-won defenses. I had a revelation that if he hurt me in the name of orders, I’d yield on an instant, that I’d like that reinforcement. No one except my father had ever truly dared to oppose me. Except Hugh, and that was different. I’d never allowed any man to even vaguely contemplate doing this, commanding me.

Glass though... I shivered, and waited, growing ever more aroused.

He nosed my ear lobe then bit and stayed there biting and sucking while his thumb kept on circling and circling, under my skirt, skating over my poor clit, sending me higher with each and every second. My fingers clawed at the seat cover.

How could the pilot not know? How could I sit here and...oh crap, I didn’t
care
.

“Ssss.” My teeth clenched. My fingers curled in harder.

His teeth released my ear. “Are you going to come just from this?”

Just from?

From him fingerfucking me while I was blindfolded then making me sit still so he could insert that, insert that...
whatever
into me and now he was assaulting my clit? Sarcastic comment needed.

Not. Right. Now.

I had my head pressed back into the upholstery by then and my lips sealed. I wasn’t going to squeal or do anything unladylike the pilot could hear. I swore it.

But I did come and, since my brain shut down for those few vital climactic seconds, I had to pray like mad I’d been silent. I think I tore a small hole in the seat cover when I came, or maybe it was already there.

Damn.
I listened to the sounds I was making while trying to get enough oxygen through slightly parted lips.

Attempting to breathe quietly, in the wake of a full on but restrained orgasm, is an exercise in futility.

“There, that wasn’t so bad.”

Glaring from under a blindfold was not effective.

Whatever was inside me, I adapted to. I ignored it, as much as I could, even though it annoyed me that he wanted it to stay there.

For much of the remainder of the flight, Glass kept his hand on my thigh, or he took my hand in his, so that I curled my fingers within his fist. Sometimes, I moved mine to reawaken the sensation of being held in that warm cave of his hand. Fingers, just my fingers, but it was enough to make me feel safe. I discovered, I remembered, how much happiness there was in touch.

Two years, no, it was more, since I’d felt this way. A long time without connecting to someone, like this. I resisted clawing my hands in and my nails into Glass. I should tell him about my past. I would. They said I wasn’t dangerous, that I hadn’t done anything, but I had to tell him. Besides, I doubted I would ever believe them, not really.

I’d woken up with my lover dead and bloodied at my feet, with a knife buried in him. Hard to get past that, no matter what the police report had said about angles of knife entry and forced entry signs. If someone had stepped forward and said, I did it, take me away, perhaps I’d have reconciled my illogical guilt. They hadn’t. Alas. My obsession with knives didn’t help. Sharp things attracted me and I’d never even been a cutter. The doctors had said I was different. I agreed.

Glass

Once the plane was taxiing away across the sea, I unwound the tape from her sunglasses. Nine AM and the sun reflecting off the water had me squinting, despite my own aviator glasses.

“Ready? It’s blinding me even. I’ve got you another pair of sunglasses.”

We’d done some limited shopping yesterday. Clothes, shoes, toothbrush – all were in my backpack. I couldn’t let her return to the hotel, not without making it extremely likely Hugh would be on my tail.

“Yes.”

Before I did so, I took in the sight of this beautiful creature I seemed to have acquired. The movement of her lips fascinated me; the rest of her might send me into a coma. Maybe I’d better not rip all her clothes off, yet.

Hell, she reveled in me doing whatever I wanted to. I pulled her in close and kissed her.

The subtle give in her lips as she succumbed was always a delight. Her spine curved backward and her sighs filled my mouth. The kiss, the small waves frothing past our legs, the sand squeezing between my toes and under my thongs, or flip-flops, as my Americanized girl sometimes called them, and the deserted beach behind me...I wanted to stamp this as a moment of paradise. This was a forever day. I knew I’d take it out, in the days to come, and turn it this way and that, sucking all the goodness from it.

I vowed I would make more days like this, with her.

A little soon for deep sentiment, but I’d been holding back for what seemed ages, since she’d first laid down on that bed for me.

“Can I take off the glasses? The plane’s gone?”

“Yes. It has. Wait though. A little longer. I want to look at you.”

“Oh.”

Then she waited, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She smiled just because I’d asked her and because she loved obeying, loved knowing I was looking at her – I’d bet my life that was true. That obedience and attitude, I could pluck from the air and put in my box with this forever day also.

Her smile said so much. Fuck, I was done for.

From her face, I brushed some hair sent flying by the wind.

I understood the allure of a submissive woman now. Only I needed one with fire in her still, like Wren. Where was the fun in being with a person so placid and obedient they might as well be a blob in the shape of a woman? But I needed someone I could connect with in other ways too and I didn’t even know what color toothbrush she preferred or if she liked sunsets or horror movies. We’d gone from the ground floor to the top of the building without stopping at the places in between.

Was that so bad?

Yes. If we never went back and looked at the other floors. I’d fix that, soon.

“Here. Shut your eyes.” I removed one pair of glasses and slid the other pair into place. Her eyes looked bleary. “See me?”

“Uh. Yes. What else? I was tempted to scream monster and run away. Buuut I won’t.” Her bottom lip was drawn between her teeth as she observed me. “Now?”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow. I knew what she wanted.

“You know what. Damn you.” She frowned then pouted, and the little ridge between her eyes made me want to kiss it.

“Damn me? You sure that’s what you meant to say? Almost a monster was bad enough.” I waggled my eyebrows. Couldn’t help it. Somehow her pouting had made this descend from high dominance to silliness.

“Uhhh. I can’t call you bastard or say damn you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” A somber look settled on her. “What about fucktard or dickwad?” A snort escaped and she sprinted past me for the beach
. Spray splashed up in her footsteps.

I took off after her only to find her stopped in the shallows, giggling and bent over with her hand under her skirt.

“Ohmigod. Oh god. I do believe I want to kill you, Glass.”

“Having trouble?” I reached down and caught her hands in mine, and put them both at her back. “Is something trying to fall out? You’d better not lose that. It’s my favorite torch.”

“Torch?” Her face fell then froze. “Oh! I’ve been around Americans for too long. A flashlight? That’s what it is?”

Her wrists turned under my hand but she stayed in one place, peering up at me. The red top was cut in a way that cupped every curve of her breasts. The sprint had left her a little breathless.

“I should make you run again.”

“Why?”

“The view is better when these are moving.”

“Pfft. They’re nothing wonderful.”

“Don’t say that. They’re perfect.” Starting at her collarbone, I drew a line down her cleavage. “But...this first.” I bent to reach under her skirt, slipped my fingers into her panties, and probed inside her. That got her dancing on her feet.

“Hey!”

I ran my finger in further, up beside the torch, stretching her. Easy to do when she was already so wet. “I have to get finger and thumb around it. Seems like your little cunt doesn’t want to give it back. Dirty girl.”

“Am. Not.” Her denial was accompanied by a wide-eyed innocent look.

I chuckled, noting her last squirm as I pushed my thumb in too, in an effort to grab the thing. “If you’ve squeezed any of your cum past the waterproofing, if it doesn’t switch on, I’m spanking you. Got it.” I extracted the torch, noting with some amusement the last bit of pussy suction resisting my pulling.

“Cum? Women don’t have cum. Idiot. Oh. Oopsie.”

“Oopsie?”

I kept my hold on her wrists but eyed the on-off switch. All the messing about hadn’t turned it on inside her. I clicked the switch and a weak light glowed from the bulb.

“Is it working?” She went up on tiptoes to look. “Wow. It is. I cannot believe I let you do that. I should’ve pulled it out myself. I should get compensation. Storage fees or something.”

One handed, I rinsed it in sea water and tucked it in my shorts’ pocket. If it went rusty, at least I’d had good use from it.

“Storage fees? And you called me idiot. Tsk.” I peered down at her, looming as if I was thinking of calling down Armageddon on her ass. Her amusement stirred something in me. I was amused too, but her taunts made me want to wreak some nastiness on her. Nasty. Dirty. Both would be best. “That smart ass comment says you want something.”