UNDER BY DURESS (11 page)

Tahima’s patience burst. Her legs coiled around his thighs and locked him in place. She reached around his buttocks, dug her nails in, and pushed him deeper. He grunted and allowed her to dictate the pace and rhythm of his strokes in and out, but not the depth.

“Harder,” she cried.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her throat.

She moaned.

His free hand forced its way under her buttocks, lifting her to meet his increasingly urgent strokes, supporting his weight with the hand chained to the piton. New sensations built within her and spiraled to another dimension. She began to whimper soft mewing noises. His mouth captured her right nipple and traced swirls around the bud with his tongue. Her nails tug deeper into his flesh, then let go so she could push his hips away from her before forcing him back in.

She locked her lips onto his neck, nipping, kissing, teasing . . .

He thrust against her, increasing the pace. She matched him, rising up to meet every stroke until he pounded into the throbbing waves of pleasure detonating throughout her body.

“
Now
,” he cried as he came, releasing a warmth that blew her away. She gripped his shoulders as every nerve inside her pulsated into a shooting burst of sweet, tight climax that swelled and receded and swelled, higher and higher. She clung to him, holding him in place as her world shattered around him.

She smiled, adrift on a cloud among the stars.

His lips brushed hers. “Unbelievable.”

Her inner muscles quivered against him, alive and tender, unable to let go of the contractions linking body and mind. “Hmm . . .”

She felt him soften as his final contractions subsided and grabbed his ass to keep him there. Not letting him go. “Still worth the discomfort?” she teased softly.

“And then some.”

A terrible sadness overcame her. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.

His lips kissed her tears away.

She pulled him down on her, wrapping his weight about her like a blanket. Somehow he managed not to crush her.

His head buried into her neck. “I won’t forget you, Tahima.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Let fate run its course. It might surprise you.”

“I hope so.”

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that he was still inside her.

~ Chapter Nine ~

Tahima opened her eyes to daylight. Just like yesterday, something had woken her, but she wasn’t sure what. Rossini was spooned around her as he had been all night. He was out for the count, had barely moved whenever she had uncoiled herself from his arms to tend the fire. She listened to the embers popping and crackling. The fire was dying. Maybe that was what had woken her.

Careful not to disturb Rossini, she slipped out from under him, immediately missing his body warmth. Shivering in the chill morning air, she sat up and all but jumped out of her skin at the sight of an armed man silhouetted in the cave entrance. He was in full hunter gear and she recognized him instantly.

Swiftly covering her breasts with one arm, she pulled up her knees to protect her modesty. “What the hell are you doing, Hank? Get out of here!”

He ignored her, seemingly fixated by Rossini’s butt.

Tahima was shocked. She’d always pegged Hank as a full-blooded male with a non-discerning eye for the ladies. She glanced down at Rossini and saw his eyes were open. He was quietly absorbing the situation, but being on his side facing her, he was completely unaware of Hank’s gaze traveling up the length of his body before coming to rest on his cuffed hand. Rossini had folded his shirt under his wrist for support, so there was nothing to hide the fact that he was chained to a piton.

An urge to protect him flooded her. “I said—”

“Hold ya horses, Tahima.” Hank’s gaze flicked to her. He shifted his rifle so it pointed in their general direction. “You’re in no position to play high and mighty. I’m athinking old man Falker would kick his bucket to learn the kinks you’re into. Perhaps I oughta stop by . . .”

Tahima’s voice dropped several degrees. “You’d be too late, Hank. Gramps died a couple of months back. Now will you get the hell out?”

“Who’s lover-boy then?”

“Tahima,” Rossini murmured.

She looked down. He shook his head, a clear warning not to reveal his identity.

Hank jerked his rifle up. “Hey! What’d he say?”

Rossini bit his lip. His eyes pleaded with her.

Tahima racked her brain. Rossini was in a highly compromising position. And she’d never get rid of Hank if he knew her lover was wanted by the police. Hank had a big mouth, too. It wasn’t just Rossini’s reputation at stake. She’d never be able to show her face in town. The thought made her feel queasy. “He wants you to go, Hank. You can see this is awkward for him.”

“Don’t give a rat’s ass. Whatsamatter with him? Why don’t he show his face?”

“I haven’t given him permission to move,” Tahima said boldly.

Hank’s eyes touched on her briefly then his lustful gaze shifted back to Rossini and the chains holding him prisoner.

Tahima’s eyes narrowed. Hank scented blood. He wasn’t going to leave easily. She rose to her feet, not attempting to hide herself.

Hank glanced at her, admired the view, but he really wasn’t interested. He nodded to Rossini. “Why’s he need your permission?”

“Because he’s mine, Hank.”

“That why you got him all chained up?”

“Not really. I just like him this way.” She lifted her foot, rested her toes against Rossini’s cheek, and pressed his nose into the dirt. He didn’t resist the silent order, but his clenching fist told her he didn’t like where she was going.

Hank gaped. “I’ll be damned!”

Tahima used his distraction to move to her clothes. She picked up her T-shirt and slid it over her arms and head before pulling it down. “So now you know, could you please go?”

He frowned to see her half-dressed. “When all the fun’s here? You need to think, missy. If folks round here know what you’re into, you’ll never be able to show your face in these parts again.” He took a step closer to Rossini. “Hey, boy? You got something to hide, too? I betchya do.”

Tahima stepped closer to the backpack. The stun gun lay behind it, just out of Hank’s line of sight. “You want to play, Hank? I’m willing to share. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

“I ain’t got a secret.”

“You will. I can tell you want him.”

Rossini flinched.

Hank turned beetroot red. He also stayed rooted to the spot.

Tahima plowed on. “Don’t turn this into something ugly, Hank. You want some fun. I’m happy to lend him to you. We go our separate ways. What do you say?”

Hank’s face contorted; desire warring with disbelief.

Rossini shook his head.

“Don’t think he’s willing to play,” Hank pointed out.

Tahima grabbed Rossini’s belt off the ground, marched over, and whacked the back of Rossini’s leg with it. He yelped and pulled his knee in, lifting his ass and revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his balls.

Hank’s jaw dropped, his pants tented up, and red-hot lust filled his eyes.

“You don’t need to be ashamed in front of me.” Tahima coaxed. “My tastes are very varied.”

Hank licked his lips. “He chained up good?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tahima’s voice oozed satisfaction and Hank grinned. “He’s well trained, too.”

She moved to Rossini’s head, crouched down and squeezed his shoulder in warning. His chin tilted towards her. She could see how torn he was between trusting her judgment and outright revolt. She would have to persuade him. Stomach churning, she touched his cheek and pressed his nose back into the dirt. Then she stood up, took aim, and flicked his left buttock with the belt.

“On your knees,” she ordered.

When he hesitated, she whipped the other buttock. Rossini quickly shifted into the desired position.

Hank licked his lips and Tahima knew he was committed.

Only Rossini could mess this up now.

“Get your ass higher,” she ordered. When he grudgingly shuffled his knees toward his chest, she walked away and casually picked up her jeans. Then she beckoned Hank forward, clearly indicating a spot at Rossini’s feet. “He’s all yours.”

Hank didn’t hesitate. He rested his rifle on the ground well away from Tahima and started unbuckling his belt. “I’ll make him lift his ass. You ain’t got the muscle, girl.”

Tahima blanched. “Hold up, Hank. He’s mine. I set the rules. You damage him and the deal’s off.” Rossini shot her a horrified look that screamed end-this-now, but she gave him a miniscule shake of her head. She had to see this through. “No more than five. Trust me, it works better this way. Or you’ll pop before the grand prize.”

“Okay, darlin’. You’re the expert.”

She quickly tugged on her jeans as he took aim, glad she’d tucked her cell phone in the back pocket.

“Wait, Hank, practice on the wall.”

“Fuck, how hard can it be?”

“Tear muscle, Hank,” she said coolly, “and you’ll be on assault charges. He’s got a wife and kids. We’ve all got secrets to keep.”

Hank mulled it over then nodded. He selected a rock to thrash.

Tahima cringed at the brute force he threw into it. “Too hard, Hank. Try again.”

He looked put out, but his next attempt was much more acceptable, although it would sting like hell.

“Well?” he asked.

“Okay, but no harder.”

He nodded and began planning where he was going to lay his first strike. He rested the end of the leather strap on Rossini’s left buttock.

Rossini tensed and Tahima knew he was on the verge of rebellion.

“Wait,” she said.

“
What
?” Hank growled.

“Wait for him to relax. It will be safer that way.”

Rossini groaned; his internal debate evident in every stiff line of his body. His cock was practically
hiding
. Tahima bit her lip. This was so way past his limits, she was ready to cave. She was just about to intervene when his shoulders dropped and his ass relaxed.

“You happy now?” Hank demanded.

She glanced at Rossini’s face, but he had rested his forehead on the cave floor, hiding his expression, and his thoughts. If he looked at her, even once . . .

She nodded.

Hank hit his intended mark quick and fierce. The stinging blow echoed. Rossini gasped and pulled away.

“Other side,” Tahima instructed idly. Inside, her stomach was twisted into knots—the belt had burned a red stripe into Rossini’s ass.

Hank waited for his victim to relax then struck without warning.

Tahima flinched. Rossini almost jumped off his knees.

“One below the shoulders,” she said quickly. “See where I’ve marked him. Aim for that, but remember, less fat, less force.”

She took out her phone and switched it on.

Rossini grunted as the belt lashed his back. Hank’s aim was improving and he had heeded Tahima’s warning, but Rossini’s fists were clenched and his jaw was working overtime.

All she had to do was pick up the stun gun and fire. But what then? She would have to disable Hank, and prevent him from coming after her. She would have two prisoners to deal with. She wasn’t the mafia—she didn’t have the luxury of a hit list. And she needed to be sure Hank would keep his mouth shut.

It was just two more blows.

“Upper legs, Hank. Well below his balls. Hit his balls, and it’s game over.”

“You’re the boss.”

Rossini yelled as Hank hit him twice in quick succession, a swipe to each leg that drove his ass into the air. His nails dug into the dirt. The chain rattled as he fought to escape.

“He’s ready for you, Hank—don’t keep a sub waiting.”

She checked her phone.

Hank was too busy positioning himself between Rossini’s feet to notice. He unzipped his pants and let them fall to his ankles, before moving into position. He grabbed Rossini’s hips, getting a good purchase. Rossini reared up as far as his chain would allow, but Hank was strong and clearly no novice at fucking a man. He leaned over Rossini and forced his shoulders to the ground with an elbow.

Tahima took a photo.

Hank was oblivious. “I was going to be gentle with you,” he growled, “but you need teaching a lesson.” He positioned his dripping, engorged head against Rossini’s ass.

Tahima got the close up she needed, snatched up the stun gun and fired. The barbs latched onto Hank’s jacket. The hunter fell forward, jolting uncontrollably over Rossini’s ass.

Rossini bucked him off. He scrambled out of the way until his restraints pulled him up short preventing him putting any more distance between him and his tormentor. His face was deathly pale and he shuddered with revulsion.

“
Fuck’s sake, Tahima
!” he yelled.

Tahima stopped zapping Hank long enough to drag the dazed hunter out of Rossini’s reach. She stunned him again for good measure. She picked up Hank’s rifle then looked at Rossini, completely at a loss.

Rossini shot her a filthy look, gave a final shudder, and then visibly pulled himself together. He beckoned her to give him the rifle. “Best to dissemble it.”

“You’re not allowed to shoot him,” she said, handing him the weapon, but planting herself in front of Hank to be sure.

“Don’t suggest it then.” He unloaded the rifle and fiddled with it, finally removing a pin. Then he put it back together as Hank showed signs of stirring.

This time, Tahima stunned him for a good ten seconds.

Rossini gave her the rifle and turned away.

She placed the rifle near the cave entrance then quickly released the barbs and hot-switched the cartridge, conscious that she only had two spares left.

“You fuckin’
bitch
,” Hank roared as he gathered his senses.

Tahima pointed both the stun gun and cell phone at him, letting Hank see the picture of him poised to fuck a man’s ass.

Hank’s eyes bugged out. He turned gray.

“I sent this to my email, Hank, with a message that will be dated and timed.”

“You’re lying. No signal.”

“Don’t need one. New satellite’s got good coverage over this area. You should keep up with the times. Try anything against me and the cops will be all over you. I’ve cleared your rifle, so don’t get any smart ideas. You’ve whipped a man’s ass, had a grope, and escaped with a little electric shock. Your secret’s safe. My secret’s safe. You’ll get over it. Now get the
fuck
out of here!”