Holding Hannah (5 page)

“Yes, you can,” he countered, a shadowed smile beginning to curl his handsome mouth once more. “You can and you will. Did you cum for your fumbling front-seat lover?”

“No,” she panted. He rolled her clit, stroking until she was pulsing, swelling, coaxing it from its protective hood. Her moan was so guttural and so loud; humiliation burned her, but it was a secondary fire that couldn’t compare with the heat unfolding under his hand. “Please,” she begged without any clear idea of what exactly she was begging for.

He was merciless.
“Why not?”

If it weren’t for his fist in her hair, she’d have turned away.
Humiliation mounted on humiliation. How many people were standing in the shadows, watching his hand rubbing between her legs and her rolling her hips to rub back? How many were listening to her moan? Her eyes watered. “I-I-I don’t know. I just…didn’t.”

“Did you tell him you did?”

“He—oh! Please, oh!—he didn’t ask. I-I-I want to s-stop now.”

Without warning, he withdrew his hand
from her pants and slapped her pussy. The impact was soft, though it didn’t feel that way. Her hips jolted and suddenly the padded top of the sawhorse was under her ass, supporting her when her legs tried to give out. She tried to snap them shut, but he had already moved between them, leaving her nothing to do but clasp him between her shivering thighs. For the first time, she dropped her hands, grabbing onto his shoulders when he struck lightly a second and then a third time. The sound, even through her jeans, was mortifyingly wet.

“We stop when I say.”
Back down her pants he went, no longer content now with just her clit but shoving until he touched the source of her heat, her wetness. He cupped her, claimed her, held her tingling, aching pussy in the palm of his rubbing hand and, without preamble, thrust first one finger, then two, then three—stretching her in an instant to what was almost too much—and shoving to get deeper inside her, writhing them, stroking, seeking…and finding.

Hannah sucked a hard breath, the sharpness of the pleasure that rocked her as unexpected as it was unfamiliar. She shouted, and she didn’t even care in that moment who heard her. “Oh, fuck me!”

It came out of her so hoarse and alien, at first she barely recognized it as her own voice. Sam only laughed, husky and low. “I’m not going to ask either,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you know why?”

He released his hold on her hair and wrapped that arm around her waist, pinning her to him, forcing her bucking, writhing hips to ride his thrusting fingers while the pleasure grew sharper and harder and infinitely more imminent. Her hands on his shoulders became claws; her cries were coming constantly now, each fast on the heels of the last though she tried so hard to smother them behind tightly clamped lips and gritted teeth.

“Because there’s going to be no mistaking it when you cum,” he said with a grin. “Do it for me now. Right now. Fucking cum. Milk my fingers with your pretty little pussy.”

His hand pumped harder, trapped by the confines of her jeans, slapping up between her thigh, and then he shifted his hold, his fingers applying direct stimulation to the spot way up inside her and his thumb coming to rest right on top of her clit. He did not rub; he pressed in instead and it was that pressure culminating upon all the rest that undid her.

Her whole body seized under pleasure so intense it felt more like pain. She shouted, another guttural animalistic sound so raw and deep that she felt torn by it. And still his fingers thrust, forcing the spasms to roll hotter and higher, faster and harder, until all she could do was cling to him just to keep from being swept away in this earth-shaking tidal flow that felt at once so impossibly good and yet so dangerous.

She didn’t even realize she’d bitten him until she felt his teeth sink into her shoulder in turn. The pain amplified the weakening, rolling flow of her orgasm; the copper-sweet taste of him in her mouth submerged her
instantly under a climax so forceful that all she could do was hold onto him and scream. His flesh absorbed her cries. His growling laughter in her ear was the sound she convulsed to, again and again, until she simply couldn’t, not one time more.

“Good girl
,” he breathed against her skin. “Good, good girl.”

His hand remained between her legs, still stroking, but softly now, soothing her, bringing her gradually back to herself. She was shaking
so violently. If it weren’t for his arm around her waist and the sawhorse propped up under her bottom, she never would have found the strength to stay upright.

The heat of his mouth pressed a lingering kiss upon the mark his bite had left on her shoulder. His teeth hadn’t broke
n her skin; she couldn’t say the same about hers. She pulled back from him slowly, staring in shaky dismay at the tiny drops of red beginning to bleed in through the cotton of his shirt, turning the dark fabric even darker where light from the lamps hit him.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. She hid her mouth behind both trembling hands, but his taste remained
hot and sensual on her tongue. She tried not to savor it, but the flavor—so salty, so masculine…so very, very him—overwhelmed her.

Sweeping his shirt off over his head, Sam looked at his shoulder. He lightly touched the bright red crescent, dipping his fingertips in the drops of red that
welled up to bead upon his skin. He looked at them, he looked at her and hunger flared hot in the depths of his dark eyes.

“My bag is on the first shelf by the door
,” he said, not taking his eyes from her and yet Hannah instinctively knew it wasn’t her he was talking to. “Please, bring it to me.”

If she hadn’t already been shaking, that look alone would have made her start. She tried to pull back from him, to cover her naked breasts, the peaks of her nipples still so tight and hard and begging to be touched—by him, only by him; she shivered.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

Sam didn’t move, not until a
whisper of movement from the mouth of the stall announced the arrival of his bag. Marshall, the same blond man from the Castle, entered long enough to pass a canvas duffel bag to Sam.

“Put your hand
s behind your head,” he told her. “And don’t move from that position.”

He moved away from her, but only just far enough to set the bag on the ground.
To run never even entered her mind. Shaking, the sting of tears flooding her eyes, she obeyed instead, folding her hands across the back of her head and lacing her fingers tight together while she watched him hunker down and unzip the bag. What he withdrew sent the first few tears spilling over her lashes and sliding down her face.

She shook her head as he unfastened the link of leather wrist, waist and ankle restraints, all neatly hooked together. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothed, coming back to her with those restraints in his hands. He buckled her into them one arm and then one leg at a time, and Hannah simply sat there, propped on top of the sawhorse, watching him do it with those stupid, useless tears falling down her face.

“Please,” she begged. “I didn’t mean to—”

He caught her chin, his long fingers caressing her cheek as he made her look at him. “I am not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “I am going to bind you, because it makes me happy to touch you in ways you’ll want to try and squirm away from. I am going to spank you, not because of anything you’ve done, but because I enjoy it. And when I finally have your ass so hot and red that even the softest caress of my hand leaves you mewling and writhing, then I am going to fuck you. Hard. Until neither one of us has the strength to move afterward. Do you remember your safewords?”

She nodded
hesitantly, not sure if knowing what was going to happen made it any more comforting or not. “Yes, Master Sam.”

The look in his eyes turned challenging.
“Do you want to use one now?”

She thought about it and she thought hard, but in the end, she shook her head.
For all that it did scare her to wear these restraints, knowing that when they were used, she wouldn’t be able to get away if—if? He was going to spank her!—she needed to, for some reason, stopping this all now left her feeling sick in the pit of her stomach. It was like he was testing her, and she didn’t want to fail. She…she didn’t want to disappoint him, as crazy as that seemed. She had disappointed so many people, she didn’t think she could handle one more.

“Good girl.” He stroked her hair, drawin
g her by her cuffed wrists until she climbed down off the padded sawhorse and stood a little unsteadily before him.

As childish as it made her feel, she couldn’t help asking, “Is it going to hurt a lot
…when you spank me?”

“I think you’ll survive.”

As cryptic as that was, it actually made her feel better…right up until he positioned her in front of the sawhorse and began to unbutton her jeans. While technically men could have sex with their pants on, it was somewhat more difficult for women. So in the back of Hannah’s mind, she knew she had to have known this point was going to happen eventually. But now that the moment had arrived, all she could think about now was that he was going to see her leg. He was going to see it, and then he would look at her, and he was going to be repulsed.

This was a mistake.

Hannah grabbed first her pants and then his hands. Sam retaliated as if he had been expecting it. Fishing a double-ended clip out of his bag, he promptly wrestled her arms behind her back and, ignoring her cry, clipped her cuffed wrists together.

“Wait,” she begged.

He peeled her jeans straight down her legs, past her scars, past her knees, all the way to the dirt floor. “Step.”

He didn’t even seem to notice her cuts.

He would soon enough.

She began to cry, she was so ashamed.

He took her ankle in his hand. “Step,” he repeated, and because she didn’t see where she had many options at this point, she did. One leg at a time, he striped her clothes away. First her pants and then her panties, until he left her standing in nothing but tears and the wrist and ankle restraints. Not only did he look at her marred thigh but, his head tilting slowly to one side, he lowered himself onto one knee and touched it too.

“I’m sorry!”
She wept. She tried to turn away, to hide in the only way she could now, but he wouldn’t even let her do that much. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m better now, I swear.”

It wasn’t until Sam snapped
back his head to stare at her that she realized there wasn’t a hint of revulsion anywhere on him. If anything, the way he’d been looking at her, touching her, his fingertips skimming so feather-light across her healing wounds, it had bordered on reverence.

Now,
however, the look he wore bordered somewhere between incredulousness, outright confusion, and a touch of dawning anger. “What do you mean,
better
? Better than what?”

She shook her head, at a loss for what she was supposed to say. “Better,”
was all she could think of at first. “Better… than before.  I’m normal now. I won’t ever do it again.”

Sam stared at her, dark, silent,
and for the first time since she’d met him, for just a moment, she thought he might be unsure. Then, somewhere beyond the lights outside the stall, someone whispered. It was the whisper that snapped him out of his thoughts. He stood up so suddenly, Hannah jumped back, crashing into the sawhorse and nearly lost her balance.

He caught her arm and then rounded on the light. “Do your fucking talking somewhere else!”

He stalked the lights, but all Hannah saw was Sam walking away. The devastation was all but blinding. She bent to grab her clothes, but forgot her hands were cuffed. She struggled to get out of them and almost fell all over again. If she could have got out, she’d have run.

“I’m sorry.” Blinded by tears and the light, she tried to
duck past him and out the open stall door. Babbling, not even caring about her clothes, she’d have run naked and cuffed all the way to her car if he hadn’t caught her. “I’ll go. You don’t have to tell me, I’ll go. I’ll go.”

He grabbed her arm and then her head, pulling her in hard against him.

“Shh,” he said again. As angry as he’d been just a second ago, now there was only calm in his voice and tenderness in his hands. It was a devastating combination; it broke her. Hannah cried in a way she had never cried before, not when her father put her into the hospital, not even when he refused to let her come home again afterward.

Guys weren’t supposed to like emotional women; Sam didn’t seem to care. He
pulled her with him back to the sawhorse, drawing her in to stand between his legs as he sat down and held her just as close as she would come until the storm of her misery was expended. She had nothing to blow her nose with. Her hands were still bound, so she couldn’t have even if she did. She did her best trying to sniff the grossness back, but she was not a pretty crier and as soon as he let her go he was going to get a world-class view of that side of her too.

A man’s hand drifted into view from over her shoulder, offering tissues.

Sam took them. “Thank you.”

When he leaned back, so did she. He wiped her face and then her nose, and then held a fre
sh side of the tissue wadded up against her. “Blow.”