Branded Sanctuary (28 page)

“Hmm.
Did
a man give it to you?”

“No. I bought it for myself. Rick—that was his name—took me to the bluegrass festival…where the vendor was. He spent all his money on his bike. He was…n-nineteen. You‟re really making it hard to…talk.”

“Good.” He‟d continued down the side of her throat with that devastating hand on her cheek, his fingers tracing her nose, gliding over her lashes. It made her eyes close, then her teeth bit down on her lip as he nipped and suckled on her throat in a way that had her body moving restlessly. Heat and wetness grew between her legs, making her panties damp, making her want him to touch her there, feel it too.

She didn‟t have the navel piercing anymore because Marguerite‟s father had ripped the barbell loose. His face had been close, stark, horror-movie close, saliva spraying her as he screamed.
This is what a dirty whore wears. A slut. I’ve always been with you. I know
what you became. What you are.

Brendan‟s hands slid away, but only to turn her around, gently push her back against the closet door. Her fingers slipped out of his pocket regretfully, grazed his hip as he completed that turn. Closing his hands over hers, he held them out in the air to either side of them, letting them float erratically up and down, a drift of movement that helped steady what had suddenly become unsteady to her.

Keeping his gray-green eyes on hers, he eased down to one knee, flanking her with the other bent one as he let go of one of her hands, then the other, to place his hands on her hips. Leaning forward, he put his mouth on her navel through the thin fabric between them and drove that terrible memory away, the shame that went with it.

The moist heat of his breath dampened the area. That and the pressure of his mouth made her nerves respond, perhaps even more violently than if it had been flesh on flesh, no barrier between them. The deprivation somehow heightened her reaction.

“Can you…” Her voice was a cautious plea in the full dark, because she‟d closed her eyes, one hand restlessly kneading his shoulder while the other found his hair, gripped.

“What, beloved?”

Beloved. Never would she have thought a guy could use such an old-fashioned word and make it sound like that, like it was supposed to sound. A vow of adoration in one, three-syllable utterance.

But then Brendan wasn‟t a “guy”, was he? She‟d dated guys, like Rick. A lot of them. Brendan was a man, everything that word should mean. Just like the word

“beloved”, it had a rich significance to it that was lost unless everything became really still, like this.

“If I need…want you to…can you…”

She shouldn‟t think about this so much, or she was going to mess herself up, but what if he couldn‟t do what she wanted? What she thought she understood about tonight, everything she‟d seen, said it wasn‟t fair to ask this. But it wasn‟t anger or that dark ugliness motivating her now, and he‟d said he‟d give her anything. Anything.

As she waffled over it, he stood. As he got up, his body was so close it dragged along hers, his jeans, the shirt he wore, catching the thin fabric of her dress, pulling it up with the motion of his body so it was gathered between them, her hem rucked up and trapped between their thighs.

“Take me over.” She flicked her attention doubtfully up to his face, wanting too much, too badly, to give herself a chance to be sensitive or debate the wisdom.

He gazed at her. Then, slowly, his lips curved to show his teeth. No question about it. It was a dangerous, bad-boy smile.

Closing his hands over both of hers, he brought her wrists up against the door, over her head, stealing her breath. Then he brought his head down so his lips hovered over hers, his eyes so close.

“Chloe.” As her pulse slammed against those points in her wrist, held firmly beneath his hands, his breath caressed her face.

“Yeah.” Her throat had gone dry, thick. His thigh slid forward, pressed against her mons, eliciting a quiet gasp, then lower, insinuating between her legs so she had to adjust her stance over him. The moment she did, he brought his knee up, an insistent, searing pressure against the thin panties she wore. The folds of her dress whispered over the denim-clad leg.

“Kiss me the way you want me to fuck you. Show me with your mouth and tongue, with your desire, how hard you want me to nail you against this wall.”
Holy God.
She let go of thought, guilt or consequences and surged up against his hold, hitting his mouth as if fueled by a firelake of pheromones. His grip tightened, a resistant counterpoint, and she growled into his mouth, scraping her teeth over his tongue, a tongue clever enough to be tangling with hers as she thrust savagely into his mouth, not thinking about finesse or seduction, just a desire to be straight out, Victorian romance-novel
ravished.
Taken over and taken hard. Pummeled, owned, so she‟d know he was completely hers. A possession to seal the deal between them. She needed his response to her eager desire to know he‟d give her anything of himself.

He had her arms, but her hips were free to move. She worked herself up on his thigh, pressing her hip bone into his cock, finding him blissfully hard. Her pussy contracted, already anticipating, needy for him.

Hiking her up under her arms, he let her climb up his body and wrap her legs around his waist, but instead of taking her against the closet as he‟d intimated, he brought her over to his bed, to that ocean of blue.

He sat down on it, with her straddling him, hands lowering to grip her buttocks, work her against him. He used his strength to move her, though the friction and pressure had her adding her own insistence to it. She wanted him inside now.

Instead, he flipped her over onto the mattress, taking her down to her back, and held her wrists to her sides as he worked his way from her mouth down her throat again, to her breasts, but not the nipples, jutting with obvious insistence against the thin cloth.

“Brendan, suckle me,” she gasped.

“I‟m OCD, remember? I have to obey your first command, first.” When she saw a devilish glint in his eyes, she got even wetter as her hands flexed under his and he only tightened his grip. “I‟m going to take you over, make you hot, wet and panting. Make you mindless, just the way you want.”

He worked his way down to the navel again, the skin so sensitive there she almost cried out as if he‟d tongued her cunt. It convulsed as if he had. She bucked as his head cruised down, his lips over one hip bone, down to the top of her thigh, playing in that crease between thigh and sex, always that wet, hot mouth against a bare millimeter thickness of fabric.

If that wasn‟t enough torment, he spoke to her throughout, in that sexy, quiet rumble, as she gasped and pleaded incoherently.

His mouth dipped, just a touch of her pussy through her clothes and she bucked up like she‟d been touched by electricity.

“Not quite wet enough,” he said in a husky, seductive tone, and she cursed him. In answer, he flipped her onto her stomach, and began working his way over her ass, his tongue dipping into that seam between her buttocks, pushing silky cloth against the nerves with the firm pressure. He wasn‟t holding her arms now, but his hand remained on her lower back, stroking, exerting pressure to make it clear that was where he wanted her.

“Brendan.” She shut her eyes tightly, thinking she would come just from rubbing herself against the cover, but she needed him. “Please. Fuck me.” His arm slid beneath her, pulled her to her knees. She was used to her boyfriends being larger than she was, and Brendan was no exception, outweighing her by probably eighty pounds and more than a foot taller than she was. She‟d always loved that feeling of being sheltered by a man‟s strength, seeing the way they varied between gentle and rough in the way they touched her, depending on how worked up they were. This was unique, getting both at once. Brendan was never rough with her, but he was inexorable at the same time, a devastating seduction.

Air touched the back of her legs as he pulled the skirt up, folded it over her lower back. He slid the panties off, allowing him to thoroughly caress every inch of flesh from ankles to hips, except the area that wanted him the most.

But then he came back up and let his fingers glide down either side of her labia, carefully avoiding her clit. She realized she was shaking as if she had a fever, thinking of his lips on her navel, his hands on her wrists.

“I want your cock, Brendan. I want it now. I need it now.” He slid up her back, came down on either side of her with his long arms, the pressure of his chest canting her down, bringing her pussy and his cock into alignment.

She made a soft, low cry at the feel of him brushing her thigh, the scratch of his opened jeans along her thighs.

“I‟ll take you wherever you need to go,” he promised, breathing into her hair.

“Wherever I order you to go?”

“They‟re the same. Just one of them isn‟t always said with words. I hear it in your voice, what you want and need from me.”

Had he done this with other Mistresses? A give and take, not only them commanding him to their will, but him knowing, watching a Mistress‟s actions and reactions, knowing what she most wanted from him? Was she now the beneficiary of such skills, though they both knew she was no Mistress?

Such disturbing thoughts fled. He‟d cinched his arm around her waist, holding her fast, and now he began to enter her, his broad head starting to stretch her lips, make her tremble.

“No one‟s ever made me feel like you do.” She turned her face into his arm, muffling the words against his skin. It was an impulsive, emotionally driven confession, but it didn‟t make it any less true.

She‟d taken joy and pleasure in her relationships, however long or short they were, but she hadn‟t known it could ever feel like this. Vital. Coming home, when you didn‟t even realize you‟d been away as long as you had. The beginning of a fire, a desire that was like an eternal flame, that only seemed to grow more fierce as he satisfied her, making her want him even more, again and again.

More than that, in this second, she felt clean.
I’m clean, I’m clean, I’m clean…this
makes me clean.
She thought it was in her head, something she was chanting like a spell to change the past, transform her present and change her fear of the future, but then he spoke.

“You‟re pure love, Chloe. That‟s what you are.”

He slid all the way in, filling and stretching her, and she cried out at the sensation, him seated to the hilt so his testicles pressed against her clit. All those internal muscles rippled along him like fingers, holding him tight. Brendan increased his grip on her waist as she pressed her face into the muscular arm he had braced on the bed.

“You‟re pure love,” he repeated, his voice husky and thick. “And pure fire. God, you feel so sweet and tight. You‟re burning me up.”

He drew out slowly, came back in, and all that arousal he‟d built before he‟d even entered her tumbled on the brink of eruption. He‟d chosen to take her like this, in the most natural position in the animal world. Taken her, as she‟d asked. Demanded.

Needed.

He did it again, that slow, torturous withdrawal and glide back in. As she moaned, sinking her teeth into his forearm, his other hand descended, thumb sliding over the tiny area of scar tissue at the navel, down to her clit. Stretched as she was, he still managed to tease inside the labia, add stress to those outer lips, as if he might try to fill her even more, work his fingers in there on top of the already thick diameter of his cock.

He didn‟t, just taunted her with the fantasy of it, his thumb rubbing a slow, perfect circle on the sensitive clit bud as she began to work herself back against him.

“Yeah, that‟s it, baby,” he muttered. Her control flagged at the quiver she felt in his hard abs, his incredible restraint as he kept himself to the pace that would inflame both of them further, take her orgasm higher.

“Brendan, I want you to come with me. When I go, I want you with me.”

“Want to feel my cock spurt in your sweet cunt?” His voice was a form of fucking all its own, thrusting into her psyche, dragging forth the emotional response that could make the physical one so much more intense. His breath caressed the sensitive shell of her ear. She pressed her forehead harder into the solid curve of biceps muscle, shifted her hand so it was over his, her fingers in the spaces, curling into the bed.

“Yes. Take me there. Get us there.”

“We are. See it on the horizon. Feel my fingers working you, the feel of me against your beautiful ass. My balls hitting your clit, as I give…you…more.” He thrust with more power, and the sensation shot straight to her womb and into her throat. She cried out, now gripping his wrist, digging in, wanting more.

He gave her more, working her harder, holding her body against him, and it was the most incredible sensation, feeling as if she were being cradled like an egg, and ridden hard at the same time. Cherished and ravished both as he set his teeth to her shoulder, a long male growl in his chest. “Want to come inside you, Chloe. Want to fill you up.”

“I‟m…yes, come for me.” She barely got the words out as his fingers, the movement of his cock inside her, the friction of his body on the outside, swept over like fire in truth, shoving her pumping body back into his. All those nearly there orgasms of the past few months came slamming together, like an army thundering out of the world of unfinished climaxes. They roared up on her, took her over.

She screamed, she was sure of it. It wasn‟t a short scream, but a long, drawn out cry.