Yield (10 page)

“Now imagine it over every naked inch of you. Wondering, waiting, trying to anticipate when it will hurt, where it will hurt.” There was a bark of the leather on denim as it struck her thigh and her vision blurred. It hurt. Holy hell, it hurt even as he once more caressed it up and down her arm. Fingers pressed against her chest and he pushed her to her back. Her eyes closed as he swished it lightly over her breasts and down her stomach. She arched and was rewarded with his hand slipping between her legs. The tease of the flogger and the erotic stroking of his fingers were almost too much. She gasped as he brushed the ends over her face.

His hand gripped her hip and he eased her onto her side.

“The good old fashioned strap.” She screamed as he snapped something from hell down on her ass. Hot. Burning. Ow. “It’s subtle, isn’t it?”

Ow. She rubbed her ass and glared at him. He smirked as he tossed the thick strip of leather to the foot of the bed. “Handcuffs. Padded cuffs.” He tossed them onto the bed beside her and she reached for the padded ones, exploring them. “Spreader bar.”

He eased off her shoes and socks. Kate rose up on her elbows and watched as he strapped one ankle in, then the other. Hands caught under her knees and he jerked, dragging her toward him as her legs bent. When he held out his right hand, she gave him the cuffs. She was breathing fast as he wrapped each wrist and hooked them to her ankles.

“Take it in, girl,” he said, stroking over her legs. “Slowly in.”

She slowed her breathing down, matching the glide of his hands up and down her thighs.
 

“Condoms.” There was the rustle of the box opening and the wrapper slid over her stomach as he tucked it behind the fly of her jeans. “Lube.” He tossed it above her head. “Old reliable.” He waggled a butt plug, setting it down on the bed. “The newest edition courtesy of J, who is diabolical.” He held up two bars. “Haven’t used it yet.” He parted them and held them to his chest. “Not tonight, but one day I’m going to imprison your nipples in this and play.” It clanked as he put it back in the bag. “My favorite. The crop. But not yet. Let’s save that.” He reached for the flogger, and if she could have, she’d have squeezed her thighs together.

He bared her stomach and danced it lightly over her skin, drawing lazy circles. She arched, her body chasing the sensual touches over her breasts, down her arms. There was a soft growl and he eased her onto her stomach. He freed her hands and moved her so her feet rested on the floor.

He stripped her shirt off and snapped open her bra before he brushed the leather over her skin. Gasping, she fisted her hands, clutching the duvet. The bed muffled her cry when he began to strike a little harder. An angle down her back one side, then the other, like he was making Xs over her skin.

A hard, painful slash over her ass and she arched at the fire because not even the denim had been able to muffle that.

“You good?”

She nodded and fingers tangled in her hair, jerking her head back and pulling her until his face was there. Right. Words. “Yes.”
 

He rolled her over and she bowed as the cool sheet hit hot skin that stung even though he hadn’t hit hard. She lifted her hips when she felt the zipper go and he drew down her jeans, stripping her naked after removing the spreader bar. The feel of him fully clothed against her bare skin made her gasp. Two fingers slid into her and his mouth swallowed her cry.
 

So much Doyle. His tongue matched the erotic movement of his fingers. Her back felt as if she had been out in the sun just five minutes too long while her ass burned and throbbed in time to his stroking fingers. The taste of him, that outdoorsy smell of him, the weight of him.

“Let go, my girl. All that I told you to hold in, let go.”

“Doyle.” She hooked her legs over his, loving the rasp of denim over skin that felt new. Against the inside of her thigh she could feel the hard press of his cock and she remembered how it felt inside her. A hundred times better than his fingers because he had been everywhere inside, not an inch of her untouched, unclaimed by him. She cried out, arching into him, her hips jerking as he slid a third finger into her. She loved the way the burn on her ass rubbed over the sheet.

“Let go, Katey. Now.”

Her body shuddered as the most intense orgasm of her life moved through her. His hand spread over the small of her back, holding her against him as she shuddered over the fingers thrusting and caressing inside her. So much Doyle.

“You remember how you told me about that moment? That one that makes you come in the darkness of your bedroom?”

She nodded.

“This is that moment. Where the scene quietly ends. The pain is nothing but a memory on the skin, the mind-fuck is over.” She shuddered as his fingers slid from her. “The moment of surrender. When you surrendered all to my hands. Trust with your pain, trust with your pleasure. The moment that’s yours. What’s the moment, Katey? Tell me.”

“When she’s his.”

“When you’re mine.” He thrust into her.

She cried out his name, because everywhere. He was everywhere.
 

“Look at me, Katey.”

She opened her eyes and focused on the black gaze watching her as he thrust inside her. Every stroke made her gasp and rise into him. He grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged it off, baring all the ink up his arms, the ripple of the muscles as he moved to an erotic rhythm she matched.
When you’re mine.

“Doyle,” she mouthed and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Come for me, Katey. Come for me.”

She shuddered as she grabbed the sheets and his fingers spread over her wrists. The contact made her splinter apart. The orgasm rocked through her as he drove deep into her. So much Doyle. She felt the hard shudder that moved through him as he buried himself in her one last time.

She had been wrong.

This
was the most intense orgasm of her life. A hand caressed over her cheek, tilted her head and he kissed her. The sweetest kiss of her life and that was what finally broke her.

When you’re mine.

****

Kate - 2002

He was home! The sound of laughter and music drew her down the stairs. The sweet acrid smell of pot mingled with the voices and she sat down. At this angle she could see Jace on the couch. Some movie was on the television but there was no sound. It was all about the music. Resting her elbows on her knees, she cupped her chin in her hands and watched Jace. He was back.

He had gone to Las Vegas with Shaelynn, according to Mrs. Dawson. Not to get married, as Jace’s girlfriend had assumed, but simply to party for a week. The housekeeper had been horrified to realize she had forgotten Kate and had stayed at the house, apologizing profusely and making Kate all kinds of cookies and cakes. It had been surprisingly hard to forgive the older woman. What had made Mrs. Dawson finally remember her? Her uniform.
 

Something had cracked away inside her that day. Blossoming hope that everything would be okay was gone. Long gone. No amount of chocolate chip cookies would make her believe again.

The rest of the band was here. She recognized them from the case of the CD she had bought with some of the money Jace gave her. With the discman she had also bought with the money, she’d lie under her bed and listen to him sing while she carefully took the booklets part to tape his pictures up beneath her bed. She had quite the collage going. She recognized Carl Hughes, who played the guitar. He was at the bar, pouring a drink, while Anderson Reeve, who played bass, could be heard but not seen. She didn’t quite know the difference between a bass and guitar, only that they were different. There was another guitar player, Maximillian Jones, and Doyle Kole who was the drummer, but she didn’t see them.

Not that she really cared about them.

Jace was home. He had come back.

He laughed, disappearing behind the sofa. When he came up he shook his head and pinched his nose. The sight made her stomach twist. Once she had found a needle in his bedroom and she had been terrified she’d find him dead somewhere like Mom.
 

Deep laughter came from behind her and panic hit.
Hide, hide, hide.
Before she could, a large body came half running down the stairs. His eyes went wide as he realized he was in a collision course with her. She scrambled off the step and into the basement that smelled like the trailer.

Funny, that didn’t change. She looked down, wondering where the stained, cracked linoleum was but it was just soft white carpet.

“Shit. Nearly trampled her.” The guy pressed a hand over his chest. “Gotta remember we have little people around.”

A snort made her look and stare. She wanted to scramble back and find a hiding place. She wanted the safety of under her bed. Because he was big. The biggest man she had ever seen. He had no hair on the sides of his head and his black hair shot up in sharp, angry spikes. She knew mean eyes like his. It meant fists. Mom had eyes like that. They narrowed and he crouched down, bracing a hand on the floor so they were eye level.
 

“Who are you?” His voice was so low it added to that urge to hide. The smells, the noise, those mean eyes. She wanted to go home. She wanted Mom.
 

His eyes were just mean looking. They were black with red in the white. She knew what that meant too. Eyes just like Mom. Mom had hated it when Kate hadn’t answered her questions and since he looked like he could crush her with one hit, she decided to answer.
 

“Kate Jace Jennings,” she whispered, her throat too dry from fear for her to speak any louder. Something ugly came into his eyes and she hunched a bit, waiting.

She twisted one of the knots holding her ribbon from side to side.

“Fuck, you look just like him. Don’t you, Katey Jay?”

He sounded like that was a bad thing so she kept still. A grunt came from him. When someone called, “D” he turned around and walked away.

Kate tried to make herself as small as possible as she watched Cyanide. Her gaze locked on Jace, hungry for the sight of him even as she wished he had been the one to call her Katey Jay.
 

Chapter 8

There was something to be said about waking up to a warm, naked body in his bed. Rising up on one arm, he caressed the slightly flushed skin on Kate’s back. He hadn’t hit hard enough to leave a mark, but there was definite evidence he had been there.
Nice.
His stomach let out a not so subtle rumble and he slid out of the bed.
 

His internal clock was still syncing up with the real world. Naked, he walked into the kitchen, leaving the lights off. All remnants of the party on Friday were gone. They had the best cleaning crew. The pantry was once more stocked with non-perishables while the fridge was filled with everything from milk to soda to wine. He grabbed the milk and a box of Cheerios. Once his snack was ready, he leaned against the island and looked out the wall of windows.
 

“How can you be naked with so many windows?”

He held the spoon in his mouth as he studied Kate wearing one of his shirts. Her hair was messed up from his grabby hands and her lips were a little redder than usual, swollen from his kisses. Sex-rumpled Kate was a thing of beauty. From the fruit bowl she picked up an apple, washing it off in the sink.

“First, they’re reflective and second, it’s liberating. If someone gets a peek, well, look at all this.” A soft chuckle escaped from her when he waved his hand over his body. He picked her up, set her on the island and leaned between her legs. A foot rubbed his hip while the crisp sound of her taking a bite of her apple filled the growing silence. Juice squirted onto his shoulder and fingers wiped the specks away. “I should make you wander around here naked.”

Her fingers stilled against his skin and his cock went heavy at the idea of watching a naked Kate. Something to ponder when she wasn’t expecting it.

“This place doesn’t even look the same.”

He nodded as he braced his hands on either side of her thighs. Everything sparkled. The cleaning team who came in the night after the party earning the fat pay check they received. “You mentioned support groups,” he said and he glanced over when she rested her cheek on his shoulder, gazing out the windows. “What made you go?”

She was quiet and he waited as his thumb caressed her knee. “I heard about Edge but knew…it’s hard fearing something you want. That bad sex I told you about? He was an online hook-up through a kink site.”

“What is it with you and the douche doms?”

He caught her hand and flattened it on his stomach, his thumb brushing over the bracelet.

“You’re not a douche.”
 

“I’m an asshole. I’m the next level. Was it like the dom at Edge?” He laid his palm against hers and the size difference was beyond obvious.
 

“No. He actually talked about stuff. Asked me some things. But it wasn’t good. I couldn’t get there. You know?”

She broke his heart. “You don’t get there. There’s not a direct route like a bus. You didn’t stop the scene.” Neither had the dom. He hated irresponsibility when it came to topping.
 

“No. I wanted it so bad, Doyle.” Her voice cracked and he turned. He caught her head and she lowered it to his shoulder. “I’m not good at this. Even when it’s a good dom, I mess up.”

“You have some messed up idea about what being a sub means, Katey.” Doyle scooped her off the island and carried her into the enclosed living room. Sure there were the windows she complained about, but there were walls to give it an intimate feel. He turned on the fireplace and sat on one of the leather couches. Not the most comfortable sensation against his naked ass but he sucked it up. She straddled his lap, studying the tattoos on his arm as a way of avoiding him. She traced one on his biceps. A rotting apple that bled into a skull. Her thumb swept over the band’s name in a banner beneath it.

It wasn’t the band’s typeface or logo. Just a reflection of what his band was. Toxic. Poison. They had picked the name Cyanide wisely, though they had picked it because it sounded bad ass.