Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1 (23 page)

I fought the desire to gag her, to make her choke. Because I liked that too. I restrained myself, not pushing to the back of her throat, but close. She whimpered and mewled like a kitten as I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth, finding my pleasure. Just when I thought I might explode, I stopped and pulled out, ready for her sweet pussy.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She stared at me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

“Say something, Rain. Your safe word?”

“No. Please. Don’t. Stop,” she finally said.

I stood, grabbed her by her bound wrists and dragged her to the floor on her knees, with her arms still stretched above her head.

She turned around, raw fear in her eyes. “You can’t, Kael. You’re too big. I told you I haven’t been with anyone since—”

“I know. Before Jamaica.” The thought of her tight pussy wrapped around my cock caused the darkness to mushroom in my head, completely taking over.

Using my knee, I roughly spread her legs apart, her tight ass up in the air. She fell forward, her chin hitting the carpet.

I jerked her back up onto her knees, smacked her ass and she cried out. The beautiful tanned color of her butt cheek turned a gorgeous magenta. Then I slapped her again. Fueled by her screams and the way she tried to run from me. I hit her. Again. And again.

Her knees buckled underneath her, and she collapsed onto the flat of her stomach, chest arched up, and her hips an inviting valentine framing a tiny juicy, pink center.

“Kael,” she moaned with her pelvis bucking with each slap. “Stop. Please stop.”

She wanted me to stop?
The fucking movie
“Princess Bride”
came to mind.
“As you wish,” I growled into her ear.

My left arm wrapped around her tiny waist and jerked her back up to her knees, while my left hand grabbed my cock, placed it at her entrance and gently rubbed it back and forth. It slid easily across the satiny folds of her pussy. She was wet.

Soaking.
Sopping.

She was scared and in pain, but she was wet. The blood surged through my cock.
She liked it.

“Please, Kael.”

I moved my hand from her waist to her hair, grabbed her ponytail, wrapping it around my fist and then pulled her to me, so that her head was inclined at a sharp angle. “Please, what?”

She fought to catch her breath. “I don’t think I can take—”

“You’re ready, baby. You’re
so
ready for this.”

But then I thought, maybe I am rushing her. Maybe I’m forcing her to do something she doesn’t want to do. It could all be for me, her giving me what I want. And yeah, I did want this, but I needed her to want it too.

I let go of her ponytail and for a moment I thought I should take it slow, savor the feel of my flesh inside hers. I thought that maybe I should make her first intercourse experience with me slow and gentle. Tender even. Work my way up to the brutal thrusting I preferred, but then she looked at me over her shoulder, locked eyes with me and moaned. It was a soft inarticulate sound of lust and anticipation. There was a question in her passion-drunk eyes. A question I would wait no longer to answer.

I pushed forward, shoving my cock deep inside of as her narrow walls first resisted my movement.

No mercy. Ever.
That was my motto when I fucked.

She tried to brace herself against the carpeted floor on her forearms, but the air whooshed out of her as she gasped in pleasure. Her knees gave away and she fell forward, my cock going deeper inside her tight pussy, practically nailing her to the floor.

She said that she hadn’t been with anyone since Jamaica, and I believed her. She was virgin tight and as I pulled out, I could feel the slick walls of her pussy gripping my cock like it didn’t want to let go. Every inch of movement was a riot of pleasure that shot through my body and I groaned with the effort not to come immediately. She screamed my name when I entered her again and I thrust in and out until my hearing muffled and my vision tunneled into a haze of darkness. I was vaguely aware of a warm, soft body beneath me with the sounds of passion somewhere far off in the distance.

I wrapped my forearm around her throat with just enough pressure to make her wheeze. She tried to make a sound but with my arm pressed against her windpipe all she could do was gasp for air. I continued to thrust inside of her, the sound of her struggling for air spurring me on. The blackness covered me completely, and all I could think of was pleasure, pain and her golden flesh.

She was a soft pliable thing beneath me, and waves of pleasure washed over me, her incoherent struggles muted by the darkness. I felt her body go limp beneath me, and I removed my arm from her throat.

She’d passed out. Erotic asphyxiation. I knew how long to restrict the air in her windpipe so she achieved the best orgasm of her life, but didn’t suffer any real harm.

I pulled out, flipped her limp rag doll body over and propped her legs on my shoulders, taking a moment to marvel at her beauty.

She was a creature from a fairytale.
Sleeping Beauty
.
Snow White
after she’d taken the poison. I was the prince to kiss her—no fuck her back to life.

I plunged into her tightness, forcing my way to the absolute bottom. She’d come to in a moment, feeling nothing but pleasure.

There’d be no beignets this night.

* * * * *

“Latte?”

He asked me that, like it was just another day.

Kael stood at his espresso maker steaming milk while pancakes sizzled on a griddle behind him. After a long hot shower, I’d gotten dressed in one of Kael’s t-shirts and a pair of running shorts.

“Sure. Extra shot of espresso, please.”

I sat down at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of last night. Of what he’d done to me and my body. I was sore. I had red marks and teeth prints on my body. He was making pancakes.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you last night.”

“No problem.” He handed me a mug. “Pancakes will be ready soon. They’re blueberry.” He gave me a second look. “You okay?”

I should be asking him if he was okay, but he seemed perfect. Happy, calm…at peace. As if what we did last night somehow made everything right in his world.

I tried to smile at him over my mug. “I wasn’t drunk last night. I’m fine.”

“You came three times.”

“Was that before or after I passed out?”

“Does it matter?” He handed me a plate of pancakes and sat down beside me. “Once before,” he poured maple syrup on his breakfast then handed the syrup to me. “And twice after you came to.”

He said it so matter-of-factly. How many times had he done this to women, restricted the flow of oxygen to their brains until they exploded into pleasure?

“How were your orgasms?”

I looked away from him, tried to ignore his knowing grin. “The best I ever had. It was like I was in a vivid dream. I can’t explain it.”

I focused on the cutting of my pancakes. They were light and fluffy, buttery. Perfect. Like him. He seemed perfectly fine. Relaxed. I was the only one out of sorts.

Part of me had been aroused last night, while the other was afraid, somewhat traumatized. He’d been violent, brutal—I’d never seen him like this before, didn’t know he was capable of such things. Didn’t know how I should act or feel now.

Part of me wanted to run from him, never looking back. But a small part of me wanted to stay and get to know this newly revealed part of him, relish in the sexual pleasure of being physically dominated by the man I loved.

I had to admit, it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

He took a deep breath. “Was there anything you liked about last night? Don’t be afraid or embarrassed. I’m not.”

“Maybe you should be.” That came out sharply and before I could stop myself. “I feel like I’ve been raped.”

He stared at me, his smoky eyes unreadable and the lines of his face pulled taut. “Some women like that feeling.”

I glared at him without speaking.

He broke first with the muscles of his face relaxing slightly. “I don’t mean they actually enjoy being raped, they like the sensation of
feeling
raped. There’s a difference. Are you angry?”

“I don’t know what I am. I just feel like I don’t know you at all.”

He smiled at me. “It’s precisely the opposite. You know me better than you did. The question is, do you still want to be with me?” He reached for my hand, and I fought the urge to jerk it away. I couldn’t reconcile my feelings. I wanted to stay. I wanted to leave. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to slap his face.

I was utterly confused, at least mentally. My traitorous body was certain what it wanted—more of Kael’s hard-core loving.

“Do you want to leave? I’m not keeping you prisoner. Or do you want to stay with me? We still have to eat that dessert you made.”

“Something is wrong with you,” I tapped my right temple, “up here. You have to be mental, insane to like that, to want to do that to another person.”

“Do I seem crazy to you? Have I ever exhibited irrational behavior before?”

I shrugged. “Maybe you’re a sociopath. Or is it a psychopath? I get the two confused.”

“Sociopaths are volatile and prone to emotional outbursts, including fits of
rage
. Do I appear to have anger management issues?”

I shook my head.

“Psychopaths are generally unable to form emotional attachments or feel real
empathy
with others.” A muscle on his jaw moved. “I love my parents. I have a strong fraternal bond with my friend, Luke.” He leaned forward. “And I
love
you.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. At the word love, I exhaled in short bursts. “So maybe socio and psychopath aren’t the best descriptions.” I tried to steady my breathing. “You have to admit, it’s not a normal behavior.”

“I can readily admit that.” His eyes were pleading for me to, what? Accept him? Not reject him? Why did he have to look at me like that?

But there was more. Lust. He was looking at me the way he looked at me last night. I felt a trickle of wetness between my thighs.

No.
I would not be turned on by his violent behavior.

He reached across the table and touched my hand. Pleasure sprung from his touch and reverberated through my body

“I want you again.” He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips.

The breath caught in my throat. “You do?”

“I do.”

“Do you have to be so violent?”
Why was I even asking that? Isn’t that what I wanted?

“No. But I would prefer it.” His voice roughened. “I can try to be gentler.”

I could barely speak. “Okay.”

Something in his voice aroused me. Sincerity mixed with lust. I felt crazy. What was I doing? What was I agreeing to? I wanted him too.

“But first, dessert. Better late than never.”

My heart beat erratically against my chest as I entered the kitchen. I placed the chilled figs covered in chocolate onto a square white ceramic plate and balanced it on my hand like a waitress’ tray.

When I returned to the living room, he was sitting on the couch. I sat beside him, placing the plate on the table before us. I selected the largest one and hovered it in front of his lips.

“Bite it,” I urged.

His eyes glinted. “As you wish.” He bit into the fig, first cracking the thick, cold chocolate layer. He closed his eyes, savoring the bittersweet taste. But when his teeth sank into the soft juiciness of the fresh, his eyes flew open.

A rivulet of fig juice trembled on his lip and I wiped it away with a finger.

“That tastes amazing. Your turn.” He chose a fig and touched my mouth with it. I parted my lips, my tongue flicking against the chocolate. But he pulled his hand away from me and put the stem portion of the fig in his mouth.

He gestured for me to bite it now. I moved on the couch so that I was straddling him. His cock was a huge, hard bump underneath me as I positioned my mouth in front of his.

I leaned forward and bit. The sensations of bitter and sweet, cold and spicy, hard and moist exploded in my mouth, causing multiple sensations to careen through my body.

I reached for a second bite but this time he grabbed me by the back of my head and pressed my lips to his, forcing my mouth open. He first kissed me, but then his tongue went inside and stole the food out of my mouth.

He finished the rest of my fig. “Sorry, I had to have it.”

I pointed weakly at the tray. “There’s more.”

He shook his head. “Your kisses taste like chocolate.”

“Oh, you like chocolate do you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I do.”

He grabbed me by my waist and raised me up. He pushed his pants down. “Ride me,” he murmured in a firm tone.

I pulled my shirt over my head, stepped out of my shorts and straddled him.

“I’m not wet.”

His gaze pierced me to the core. “I bet you are.”

He took a moment to inspect the love bites and red handprints on my body. He touched every single one with a soft caress and then branded each one with a gentle kiss.

After last night, I couldn’t believe how tender he was being with me. It was like he was two different people.

I pressed my lips to his. I felt his cock move beneath me as we kissed. He groaned as I nuzzled his ear, nibbled on his neck.

I returned to his mouth, biting on his full bottom lip. I felt his hands grip my waist tightly.

“Ride me,” he commanded.

I lifted up, hovering over his member until it touched my moist center. I hesitated a moment too long, and he pushed me down on his shaft.

I moaned as his hardness sliced through me, with pleasure spiking me to the core. I tried to find a rhythm, but he did it for me, bringing me up and down on him while his mouth nipped at my breasts bouncing in front of him.

I couldn’t speak, the pleasure was so intense. He’d caught a nipple between his teeth, tugging at it as I moved away from him. It was an exquisite pain that began in the very tip of my nipple and transmuted into pleasure between my legs.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his thickness inside of me. And then…he slapped me. Hard across my cheek. I almost fell backward, but he caught me, slammed me back down on him.