Page 10

Grit

Fuck, she looked like a goddamn child.

He hated feeling like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey, but with the covers pulled up to her chin, her face almost ashen, and those pretty ice-blue eyes lacking any trace of her usual insanity, it was difficult to see himself as anything but a monster.

Yes, it was ridiculous thinking this way. They were both consenting adults—consenting and adults being the operative words. They weren’t virgins, as Tabitha so kindly reminded him.

This whole thing should be easy, yet it was the hardest task he’d ever faced.

So many lines to watch, so many limits unknown.

So many ways to fuck up, but she was worth the risk.

Mimicking Tabitha, he dragged his side of the covers up his chest. Once he was suitably concealed, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and removed the last barrier between them. Despite drinking his fill of her nakedness, his cock wasn’t even at half-mast; her fear wasn’t an aphrodisiac for him, quite the opposite, and she was terrified no matter how she tried to fool him.

She wasn’t ready for this. He knew it in his bones, she was pushing herself to the finale for reasons of her own. However, if she was expecting him to simply mount her like a bull, all heat and instinct without any semblance of care, she was about to be sadly mistaken.

This was the critical turning point for them both. One slip, one wrong touch, and Tabitha wouldn’t let anyone close to her again. Trust hung in the balance.

The bed was shaking.

It triggered his primal need to protect, he realized. His woman was afraid, yet the threat was already dealt with—she’d taken care of it herself, but the mental scars Dominic had left behind were every bit as real as the ones she wore in her flesh.

Shifting onto his side, Grit propped himself up on his elbow, studying her quietly. They were close enough he felt the warmth of her body without touching her, felt the quake of fear through the mattress. “Pretty little tiger, so brave. Take a deep breath for me, hold it for a few seconds.”

She did exactly as he asked, because at the core, she was a very good girl. Maybe she believed it was Dominic’s training that forced her to jump through whatever hoops were thrown in her path, but Grit’s opinion was slightly different—yes, she’d been trained to obey or face the consequences, but at the heart, she liked to please.

“Again,” he told her as she blew out a shaky exhale. Beneath the covers, he found her hand, cold and damp. “Count the seconds, beats of four. Inhale, hold, exhale. Beats of four, Tabby, nice and slow.”

Sweat beaded along her hairline. “I know how to breathe, Grit.”

Good, some attitude. Her inner spark hadn’t given up the ghost yet. “I should hope so; you’ve been doing it long enough. Focus on the rhythm.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before running his palm up her arm. “Don’t bother telling me to just hurry up and do it,” he advised when she opened her mouth. “I’m in charge, remember? You don’t get my cock unless I think you’re ready for it.”

Her next exhale came in the form of a raspberry.

“Careful, little tiger. I still owe you a spanking for trying to leave when you could barely walk.” His touch trailed over her shoulder, along her collarbone, until he covered her upper chest with the spread of his hand. “Now, be a good girl and pull the covers down to your waist.”

Ah, hesitation. Apprehension flickered in her eyes as she licked her lips nervously. Slowly, the duvet slid down, revealing his hand, then her breasts, then the flat expanse of her belly.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured in honest appreciation. “Fucking gorgeous, and all mine. Aren’t I the luckiest man alive?”

“Dead men don’t have much luck.” Tabitha’s voice crackled with nerves. “Grit, please, just—”

“Shush. I want you wet enough to soak the sheets, which means playing with this beautiful body until you relax.” Her skin was warm and so damn soft. He traced the silvered scars running like fractured spiderwebs through her pale flesh reverently. “I love your breasts, Tabitha. Plump and firm with these pretty nipples begging for a kiss.”

She scoffed and squirmed. “They’re small.”

“They were made for me.” Grit demonstrated by covering one with his hand, pleased when it fit perfectly. “Every inch of you has my name on it.” He skimmed a fingertip over her tattoo. “Maybe I should get Loki to ink you up. Here,” he mused, tapping a spot on her upper arm, then dragging his fingertip over to her collarbone. “Here would be good.” Down to the tops of her breasts. “Here and here.” Circling her nipple until the flat areola began to crinkle and peak, he frowned thoughtfully. “Anywhere I damn well want.”

A faint sound, not quite a whimper. He glanced up, noticing her eyes were round and wary. The perfectly cold blue of her irises weren’t quite as wide, her pupils starting to blow. “I should spank your ass, Tabitha, and leave a handprint on one of those luscious cheeks—Loki can tattoo the outline before it fades.”

“Only if you tattoo Tabitha’s Big Boy somewhere on yours,” she retorted swiftly. A shocked yelp escaped her, reflecting in the stunned expression on her face, as his teasing fingertips turned into weapons, attacking her ribs and tickling wherever he could reach. “No! Grit, no! Tickling is—” she squealed, high and loud, “—punishable by death! A horrible, painful death!”

Easing himself partially over her, crowding her space, he continued his merciless assault on her sensitive ribs while bending his head to her throat. Using his short beard—something he was considering keeping—to brush her skin, he set his mouth to work on the pulse throbbing under his tongue.

Nerves eroded by the switch from serious to playful, Tabitha giggled and squirmed. Giggles blossomed into full blown laughter; her legs kicked, her feet drumming on the sheets.

He wished he could kiss her.

A long, slow meeting of lips to gradually turn laughter into a low moan of arousal. A gentle kiss to show her how much she meant to him, how much of a gift her trust was to a man like him.

Her laugh became manic. “Grit, stop, I’m gonna pee!”

“Never really been into watersports,” he mused, nipping a line down the side of her throat. “Not my thing. How badly do you want me to stop, little tiger?”

Tears were forming; she couldn’t catch her breath. “You’ll be… sleeping in… the wet spot.”

Now his laugh boomed. She didn’t know that once he claimed her—today or in a week, a month, a year—they wouldn’t be sleeping for a while. When she was finally his, he intended to ride her again and again until she belonged to him completely. “Short flight, remember? No sleeping required.”

“Damn, that was… my only… leverage.” Wheezing, Tabitha set her hands on his chest and gave a heart-hearted attempt to push him away. When he didn’t budge an inch, awareness filtered into her gaze; he watched her take stock of the situation, how his upper body almost caged her in.

Before she panicked, he lowered his head to her breast, flicking the tip of his tongue over her distended nipple. Instead of tickling her reactive areas, he used his palm to stroke her hip, her thigh, in reassuring sweeps. “Breathe, Tabby.”

“I am.” She swallowed, biting her lip. “I need to be honest here, Grit.”

“Hmm.” He plucked her nipple between his teeth, letting it pop free. “Honesty is always encouraged. Recommended, in fact.”

The small gasp of surprise was immensely satisfying.

“I don’t like foreplay. Can you please just put the condom on and fuck me?”

“No.”

Pale eyebrows drew together in a deadly blonde scowl. Convinced he was about to feel her wrath rain down on him, Grit continued to please himself with her breast, sucking lightly while his hand gravitated to her mound. “This pussy is mine now, Tabitha. She’s tight, all the muscles neglected for years after a decade of abuse. I really don’t think she’ll like it if I ram my cock inside her when she’s dry and unprepared.”

“She’s used to it,” Tabitha muttered, her hand grasping his shoulder.

“Not anymore. Never again. Vaginas are tough, Tabby, but they still bruise and tear and bleed if they’re not treated right.” He switched to her other breast, letting his fingers drift between her legs. “This pussy is going to be worshipped. Revered. Adored. I’m gonna play with her until she’s soft and wet and aching, then stretch her open bit by bit. Inch by inch,” he crooned when she went rigid.

“No. No, just fuck me.” Her small hands fisted, one against his neck, the other on the sheets. Frustration and anxiety smacked into him as though they were his own emotions. “I don’t like this!”

There it was, the plaintive whine he’d been anticipating. Her voice, like her eyes, gave so much away when her emotions were compromised. When she was in absolute control, killing mode? Fuck, he doubted the CIA could crack her.

But burrow beneath the implanted persona and she had nowhere to hide.

Did she think turning this into a fight would make his chain snap? More than likely. He didn’t think she’d been around too many men who’d held themselves back when given the opportunity to fuck a goddamn child. She’d learned that magic words like fuck me gave her back some semblance of control—if she demanded it, then she was no longer the victim.

There were a lot of lessons in her future. Ones she’d accept without too much trouble, and others she’d fight tooth and nail to resist.

Cupping her pussy lightly, he found exactly what he suspected. Flat, dry labia, not even a hint of natural lubrication. Totally unreceptive because her head, heart, and body were so disconnected in an attempt to protect herself, it was a monumental challenge to get them to work in sync again.

Scraping his beard over the pearled tip of her nipple, Grit hummed softly. “Your safeword is there for a reason, little tiger.” Finding her clit, he tapped the pad of his finger on it, circling the sensitive bud until her hips gave the slightest jerk.

“Grit!” The snap of her voice tried to override him.

Continuing to hum nonchalantly, he kissed his way down her body, using his lips to follow the contours of her ribs and waist, the dip of her stomach. Her breath caught between gasps, giggles, and protests as his beard provoked her ticklish spots.

“Kick off the covers,” he ordered, still toying with her clit. The bundle of nerves was thicker now, swelling in response to direct stimuli.

When she obeyed, he snagged a pillow and shifted to kneel between her legs. A gentle smack to the inside of each thigh encouraged her to spread them further; he swore she blushed from each tiny, perfect toe to the roots of her hair.

“Lift your hips. Higher, that’s it. Good girl,” he praised, crooning the words. The pillow wedged under her ass, raising her pelvis to just the right height. Taking his time studying her, he smiled. “God, you’re so pretty, Tabitha. All of you is so damn beautiful, but this pussy… mmmn, I love this shade of pink.”

That hit her neon switch—she lit up like a stop light, glowing with embarrassment.

Moving to his elbows, he curled an arm around her thigh, setting his shoulder into the bend of her knee to pin her open. He used his other hand to press gently against her opposite leg, feeling the sleek muscles quiver beneath his touch. “Don’t move, little tiger. Stay exactly like this.”

A long lick from her anus to her clit wrenched a timid cry from her. Already raised high, she couldn’t twist or lift her hips to evade the intimate kiss, but her fingers scrabbled in the sheets for purchase.

Grit took his time, using his tongue to tease her until arousal began to heat. Under his ministrations, her labia became plump and firm, filling with blood the same way his cock was hardening.

Wary of her hands, knowing she could break his neck if he overstepped her limits, he parted her with a stroke of his tongue, finally tasting the heart of her. Her juices were like silk, slick and sweet, although not abundant. Not yet.

When he groaned, Tabitha froze. He practically heard her muscles seize, turning to stone. A glance at her face told him she was fighting the urge to do him serious bodily harm—she really didn’t like him making sounds of appreciation for her body while he was exploiting said body.

“Take a breath, Tabby,” he advised, absently running his hand along her thigh. The lean, sculptured muscles honed by years of training and active use were rock hard beneath the softness of her skin. “We went through this before, remember? Take a slow breath and trust me.”

Tabitha was a woman of many talents; disconnecting herself from a situation was one of them. The angry panic in her eyes was sliding away into that empty glaze, her face becoming lax and unresponsive.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured, preferring to deal with an enraged tigress than a woman who sank so deep into herself, it took an eternity to find her again. If he needed to yank the tiger’s tail to stop her from spiraling… well, he’d always been a sucker for punishment. “Stay with me, Tabitha.”

Not even a flicker of recognition at his voice; just a swath of emptiness dragging her down deeper. He hated to think how often she traveled this path alone, relying on her own strength to haul herself out of the hole it led her into again and again.

Circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, he sealed his lips around it and sucked. Gently at first; persuasive little pulls to try and coax her back to the real world. When that didn’t work, he set his teeth on her, nipping at the taut bud, feeling her body react to the brief flickers of pain.

But her attention was a million miles away.

“Sorry about this, little tiger,” he said before taking her clit between his teeth and biting down. Lightly to start, adding pressure bit by bit until her hips squirmed and bucked. Until the pain went beyond pleasure into hurting.

Tabitha snapped back faster than he anticipated; there was no slow emergence, no gentle coming back to him. No, he got the full force of the tigress he preferred, rage and all, erupting like a goddamn demon.

The heel of her hand slammed into his forehead, knocking his head back as her body contorted. Her thighs clamped around his neck, her legs crossing over his shoulders to hold him in a fucking headlock that he found sexier than he should.

Grit grimaced when she clapped her hands on his ears, sending pain shearing through his brain. Her snarl was a warning he took seriously; pushing his weight forward, gripping her thighs as they tried to strangle him, he rolled onto his back.

She struggled, scrambling to free her legs from under his weight—he gave her the opportunity to do just that, snagging her cuffed wrists as he leaned forward. Her body shifted, that perfect form moving fluidly until she straddled his face instead of choking him.

Adrenaline surged through Grit’s blood, sending his cock into a state of rapture. Harder than he’d been in a long time, feeling his pulse beat along the thick shaft, he clamped his hands on her hips, pinning her in place.

And he feasted like a starving man.

Patience and care were his natural instincts, but beneath them was a core of primal beast walking hand in hand with his dominant side. The threat of violence, the urgency of battle against a worthy foe, brought that beast to the surface, throwing itself into the skirmish with great delight.

Tabitha screamed when his tongue pierced her core, her hands fisting in his hair and yanking as she ground herself onto his face. She rode the lash of his tongue tentatively, making sounds that were part bliss, part revulsion.

Such a tormented soul. Even as her pussy wept, her juices lapped up with long strokes of his tongue, her mind couldn’t comprehend it. Violence, pain, she understood all too well—having her body violated and her control usurped without getting anything in return was her version of normal.

He could take everything from her, he realized, every single thing she had to offer as long as he did so by force. Because that was how she’d been trained, what she’d been taught to accept.

Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t that kind of guy. Whatever he took, he gave back tenfold, one way or another.

She surprised him by reaching back, grasping his cock through his boxers. No, not grasping. That was too tame a word for the tight noose of her fingers fisting his dick, jacking him off through the silky material.

“Tabitha,” he said sharply, breathing hard. The tang of her cunt was fucking addictive, but that stranglehold on his dick was even moreso. “Fuck, girl. That feels so…” His inhale sounded like a growl, throaty and raw. He was supposed to be the Dom here, in charge of the situation, he reminded himself. “Let go, little tiger.”

Those ice-blue eyes bore into his, feverish with panic and arousal. “Tit for tat, said the rabbit to the cat.” Voice rising, she tipped her head back until she exposed her throat in a sleek arch. “Bad, bad cat eating all the cream, wanting the poor little rabbit to scream, scream, scream.”

He was skating on thin ice, coming close to overwhelming her. Getting him off was a way to maintain control when she felt it was spiraling out of reach; as her Dom, he couldn’t allow it. Just as—as he’d known before they got into bed—he couldn’t give in to her demand to fuck her.

Not the way she thought she wanted, anyway.

Running his hand down her arm to her wrist, he tugged her hand away from his cock and secured it at the base of her spine. She bared her teeth at him, tightening her fingers in his hair until his scalp protested; he nabbed that one as well, pulling it down behind her so he collared both of her wrists in one hand.

“Damn right I’m gonna eat all this cream. It’s all mine, right?” The resonance in his voice was dark, commanding, more than he intended. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it, Tabitha? It’s going to come all over my face, my fingers, because I want it to, and you’re a good girl who really wants an orgasm.”

“I-I do?” Bafflement filled her expression before she shook her head in denial. “No. No, one was enough. Doesn’t feel right.” She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering under her breath. “Not a good girl. Not a good girl.”

Grit laid his free hand against her cheek, swamped by a sense of impotency. He didn’t need to read Rita’s goddamn notes again to understand how thoroughly she and her husband had fucked with Tabitha’s head.

“Such a good girl,” he argued. “My good girl, yes? Only my good girl. No one else’s, because no one else matters. You’re wearing my cuffs, little tiger, which means what?”

She leaned her cheek into his palm. “I’m yours.”

“Exactly. When you’re mine, you put your trust in me. All of it. You trust me when I tell you how much of a good girl you are, how you deserve all the pleasure I give you.” He pressed a kiss to her clit, relishing the shudder rippling through her. “And you ride my fucking face like a bronc rider at the fucking rodeo when I ask you to, yes?”

Her hands flexed, but she didn’t struggle. When she opened her eyes again, they were calmer, less frantic, although there were still traces of chaos lingering in the blue. “Yes.”

He hummed low in his throat. “Let’s try that with an honorific thrown in, Tabitha. When I’ve got you like this, it’ll serve as a reminder of how this dynamic works.”

Her brow furrowed. She hesitated before blurting, “Yes… Sir?”

“Perfect.” It was a sensuous purr of approval. “Now, are you going to ride my face, or do I have to pin you down and eat you out with your feet by your ears?”

The blank look of shock on her face was priceless; hopefully, she was imagining how she’d look with those fine legs stretched back toward her head, her pussy open and accessible, because he sure as hell was. “I-I don’t think I’m that flexible.”

“Maybe not,” he said, touching his lips to the inside of her thigh, “but you’ll bend for me, Tabitha. In all the best ways.”

“Bunnies don’t bend too well,” she groused in a sing-song voice. “Bunnies bounce, bunnies hop, bunnies jump—”

Grit rolled his eyes and lifted his head, clamping his mouth over her pussy and putting her rambling to an end. The bunny rant died into a series of hitches in her breathing, trailing off into a shocked moan—just the right pitch, the perfect level of enjoyment, to tell him he’d hit the spot.

*

Tabitha

She couldn’t remember what she’d been saying. What she’d been thinking.

All thought, feeling, awareness was centered on that hated place between her spread thighs and the hot, merciless mouth doing terrible things to it. Terribly wonderful things she couldn’t comprehend.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been in this position. Well, actually, yes, it was—Dominic had never given her a dominant position in bed, and neither had the friends and acquaintances he’d invited to the mansion to fuck her when the thrill of keeping her to himself faded.

She’d always been relegated to the bottom. On her back, on her knees, on all fours with her cheek forced against the floor, burning away the skin as the monster of the moment rutted into her.

This… this was unprecedented. Straddling Grit’s face, her thigh muscles quivering in an effort to keep her sex from literally smothering the man, felt wrong on so many levels, she couldn’t begin to name them.

The soft lave of his tongue through her folds made her core muscles clench. The ease with which it penetrated her told her she was actually wet—which probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing as he was the only man on the planet to whom her body responded honestly.

Her shoulders hunched forward, straining her shoulder joints and arms against Grit’s restraining grip. An odd ah-ah-ah noise bubbled in her throat, awkward and stilted.

She was used to hard teeth and stinging bites, not the attentive strokes of a tongue and the soft suction of his lips around her clit.

God, the urge to sink down and grind herself into him was strong, especially when his tongue fluttered around her entrance, making her squirm.

“Please, Sir, can I have my hands?”

His voice vibrated against her flesh. “Don’t touch my cock, little tiger.”

Once was enough for today. She hadn’t thought he’d be a shrimp in that department, but she hadn’t believed he’d be a whale either. Even through his boxers, she’d felt how long and thick he was, the rigidness of his shaft. How primed he was, ridiculously hard, his heartbeat pulsing through the plump vein on the underside of his cock.

She might be crazy, but she’d been fucking insane to beg him to use that thing.

Those big, rough hands lifted off her, releasing her wrists, cutting all contact. She whimpered in alarm, needing his touch to keep her grounded. Before she rose onto her knees, she felt his calluses stroke over her ass, her hip, and relaxed.

Jesus, her brain was messed up six ways to Sunday. For years, she couldn’t stand being touched in even a casual manner, and now she couldn’t function through what amounted to a simple sexual interaction without the safety of his hands on her.

“Get this pussy on my goddamn face, little tiger.” When she hesitated, thoroughly uncomfortable with the position, Grit’s voice cracked like a bullwhip. “Now.”

Responding to the command, Tabitha’s leg muscles surrendered. Her core clenched on emptiness as his beard scraped the sensitive skin high on the inside of her thighs, then her sex flattened over his mouth.

The harsh rumble of approval vibrated through her, starting at her clit and working inside her as effectively as his tongue. His hands slid down to claim her ass, his fingers curling around her buttocks as the tips dug in to urge her to ride to the rhythm he dictated.

Slow, gentle, unhurried.

Exactly how she imagined he’d guide her over his cock, lifting her until the crown stretched her entrance, sinking her down until there was no separation between them. Two bodies so closely joined they became one.

Tabitha shuddered with a mixture of revulsion and anticipation. She was definitely screwed up in the mental department—how could she yearn for intimacy with him, yet want to leave hog-tied on a railroad track for daring to dominate her this way?

So much conflict, and it was all churning away inside her.

Grunting in annoyance, Grit flipped her over without warning, licking his lips absently when he raised chastising eyes in her direction. “Too much thinking, not enough coming,” he admonished sternly, walking backward on his knees and dragging her body down the bed in his wake. “Let’s see if I can find a way to keep that busy little brain focused on me and me alone.”

Flat on her back, she discovered she was speechless.

Sitting on his heels, those oddly compelling eyes roamed over here, searching for her weaknesses, concocting dastardly ways to torture her. He made quiet clucking sounds, as though his thoughts were on a timer. “How does one turn off an anxious mind and divert all this nervous energy into something productive?”

Said mind went blank.

Grit hooked his hands into the back of her knees, pushing them up toward her chest, spreading them so her whole pelvic area was on full display. “Hold these for me, Tabitha. Exactly where they are.” His smile flashed when she obeyed. “I want your eyes on me, no matter what. If I catch you looking anywhere but at me, I’ll spank this gorgeous pussy. If I find you with your eyes closed, I’m going to spank this pussy. If I happen to discover you’ve disassociated… well, can you guess?”

She swallowed, tightening her hold on her trembling legs. “You’ll spank my… me?”

The smile evolved into something dark and wicked. “Oh no, little tiger, nothing as easy as that. Because if you don’t focus really hard to stay with me,” he said, trailing his fingertips over her puffy labia and down, down, down, “this tight little asshole will be finger-fucked until you come back to me, crying and screaming and coming like it’s the end of the fucking world. Do we have an understanding?”

She understood she never wanted anything near her back channel ever again. Even the butterfly-gentle skim of his blunt fingertip against her anus was enough of a threat to command her obedience.

When she didn’t answer, his whole expression became softer, sympathetic, and she hated it. “It’s okay to tell me something is a hard limit, Tabitha. After everything they did to you, I expect there to be several things off-limits during a scene.”

Suspicion niggled at her; there was something in his phrasing that tickled her internal alarm, but her pride shoved it aside in its haste to make her stance known. Hard limits were an open admittance of failure; yes, maybe she struggled with some aspects of intimacy on this level, but she was accustomed to being fucked against her will, not coaxed into a romantic relationship by a man who’d cut out his own heart if he hurt her by accident.

Jaw clenched, she ignored his blatant invitation to knock his suggested punishment on the head. “I won’t take my eyes off you, Sir.”

Disappointment, a touch of admiration, and exasperation flared in his eyes before he shook his head. Bracing his left forearm across her exposed thighs, he toyed with her pussy using his right hand. “As you wish, little tiger.”

Her breath snagged on a cocky retort, stolen by the insistent press of his finger against her entrance. Fuck, he wasn’t wasting any more time, was he? She almost closed her eyes when he thrust that lone digit into her, sliding deep through the wetness in her core.

“I think we both know my cock isn’t going to have the pleasure of fucking you, don’t we?” Grit asked amiably, apparently unconcerned that his dick was demanding attention, leaking precum down the ample shaft. He fingered her slowly, vocally mulling over his thoughts. “So hot and wet, but there’s room for improvement. Don’t want to tear the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Heat flushed into her cheeks. She knew what it felt like to be torn inside, to feel flesh split. Unable to watch him play her body like a maestro, she forced herself to stare at his head, counting the hairs.

A harsh, heavy grunt strained her throat when he eased a second finger in, curling them both up to stroke the front wall of her vagina, grazing the magic spot that made her legs quake.

A few light taps were sufficient to flood her brain with happy hormones. Even as she relaxed around his digits, her toes scrunched up until they threatened to cramp. She jerked, physically restraining herself from crying out as he teased her, coaxing her muscles to clamp down on him.

God have mercy. It was the only thought she was capable of as her head rolled back into the mattress. How did he understand her body so well when it felt as though she barely knew it at all?

Smack.

A sharp sting of pain on her labia shocked her back into the moment. It throbbed for several seconds, fading into tingling warmth. “W-What?”

“Eyes,” Grit reminded her.

“I have two of them,” she shot back. “They’re blue and—oh!”

Her empty channel filled suddenly, the tilt of her hips adding extra pressure. She tried to arch, to buck, but she was caught in a web of her making and his. A babbling stream of nonsense erupted when his mouth joined the fray, lapping around his fingers, as they pumped steadily in and out of her sex, sucking on her clit until the ache in her belly morphed into tingles, radiating under her skin.

“Mmmn,” he muttered. “Not quite as reluctant to come this time. C’mon, little tiger, give it up. I can lick this pussy all damn day; I don’t care if the plane lands and we’re sat on the tarmac for hours waiting for you to come.” His teeth nipped her clit, wrenching a cry from her. “Give me it, Tabitha.”

Thrust, suck, nip. Thrust, suck, nip.

She found the rhythm in her head, panicking when she realized it was getting faster. His hand worked between her thighs, pumping steadily into her wetness, pounding his fingertips against her G-spot every time he pushed in. The heat of his mouth surrounded her tender bundle of nerves, soothing the quick, fleeting pinches of pain from his teeth.

“I can’t. Grit, I can’t, I—”

She choked as the fullness in her pussy lessened. One thick finger was all she had to squeeze down on, and it wasn’t enough. Her senseless protest cut off short, disintegrating into a breathless wheeze when his wet fingertip probed her exposed anus. “No, no, no, no!”

Circling the dark star, Grit tsked softly. “Come, Tabitha.”

Shaking, she released her legs, letting them fall over his shoulders. Grabbing handfuls of his hair, she tugged. “Not there, please not there. Sir, it hurts. It always hurts.”

“Safeword or come—those are your choices.” He pushed gently, easing through the tight ring of muscle to the first knuckle.

The burn was intense, the same horrible ache she remembered from years ago. It ignited beneath her skin, setting her alight. Sobbing his name, she rocked her hips as best she could, driving his fingers deeper into her as pain and pleasure bloomed into a raging beast she couldn’t control.

He bit her clit, immediately sucking hard on the tender bud, and massaged her G-spot until she felt herself splinter at the edges. Bit by bit, she unraveled into an unholy mess, pieces of herself scattering near and far.

Her scream was high and frantic, devolving into keening cries as her body twisted and writhed, seeking more pleasure even as she wanted to bolt from it.

Eyes rolling back in her head, she surrendered, letting everything he gave her flow through her like a tsunami. Washing her clean, stripping away doubts and pain, cleansing her fear. Fighting her way through the current until she was too exhausted to struggle to safety.

There she floated, barely aware of him leaving or coming back with a cloth to clean her up. Drifting as he carefully removed the cuffs and rubbed her wrists. Tumbling back down to earth as he tucked her under the covers, easing in behind her to wrap her up in his arms.

He held her through the tears, through the uncontrollable trembling. He stroked her belly with a light hand, telling her what a good girl she was, how she made him so proud. When she regained her faculties, she allowed him to hold a bottle of water to her lips while she drank small sips, wondering what the hell he’d done to her.

She wished she didn’t have to cry after every orgasm—she was two for two, and it was mortifying. Poor baby, she thought bitterly, abused so thoroughly by her father and repressing a massive chunk of her life. Denying herself the freedom to adopt a sexual identity of her own, isolating herself away from prolonged contact with society.

“Stop thinking, little tiger.” Grit’s arms tightened around her. The length of his dick was cradled in the seam of her buttocks; his chin rested on her shoulder. “We don’t have long before we need to return to our seats for landing. Flick the switch on your mind and give it chance to rest.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? Her system was wired for survival, not rest and relaxation. Even after the orgasm he wrenched from her, she felt like an idling engine, just waiting for a foot to stomp on the gas pedal and send her hurtling forward.

He began to hum, something low and melodic, as his hand dropped to her hip, stroking down her thigh to her knee and back up again. Not to arouse; just the opposite. He knew how to play her to draw out the softness in her, how to undermine the killer and seduce the woman.

As her mind slid into the almost hypnotic rhythm of the lullaby, she felt something shift inside her, cracking open the ice around her heart—ice he’d started melting the day he’d treated her as a human instead of a killing machine.

She fell asleep with his scent surrounding her, wrapped in his arms, with her heart unguarded for the first time in her life.

*

Grit

Evander’s crew worked fast.

Strolling through Serenity with the massive Dom beside him, Grit admitted he was impressed with the progress they’d achieved during his prolonged absence in Phoenix.

The residential cabins were completed, just waiting to be furnished. The landscaping team was busy adding the finishing touches—rockeries, flower beds, planting shrubbery and trees for additional privacy.

The photographer’s studio—built to the specifications of a friend of Evander’s looking to relocate—was in the last stages of being fitted out. The nursery—what Grit considered to be the ultimate playground for Littles—smelled of fresh paint and varnish.

They’d visited the area Evander dubbed The Zoo, which was basically one long cabin split off into kennels, a cattery, stables, a socialization area, and a veterinary clinic for those into pet play with a medical twist.

Puppies and kittens could curl up in their individual heated pens, play to their heart’s content with any number of toys and gadgets, or frolic in the communal area while their owners observed from the raised dais in the center.

The medical play building was state of the art. Still in the process of being kitted out, the few pieces of equipment already installed were top of the line. No shortcuts, no cheap substitutes, just health and safety of the client at the forefront all the way.

“When I came here under the guise of working for you, I couldn’t envisage this. In my mind’s eye,” he added when Evander sent him a questioning look. “I mean, yeah, your original blueprints had to change because of the structural damage to the existing buildings, but to demolish ninety percent of it and rebuild something like this in its place… kudos, Evander.”

Ever a modest man, the giant blond gave him a rueful smile. “Can’t take much of the credit. It would’ve been a dream without weight if Eli and Callie hadn’t been willing to support me; Eli took charge of the day-to-day business as that’s what my husband does best.” The pride in his voice when he said husband was rich and effusive. “The crews are working their asses off, beating deadlines and passing every inspection. Serenity isn’t a one man-achievement, not by a long shot.”

Coming from a man who single-handedly built one of the most successful construction companies in the United States, turning himself into a multi-millionaire, it was high praise for his spouses, and the men and women on his crews who were more loyal to Evander than a Labrador was to its family.

Evander was no stranger to money—he’d grown up knowing one day his father’s fortune would be his; not just millions, but billions in chocolate-flavored inheritance.

“How long until the grand opening?” Grit queried.

“Going off calculations of our current schedule, everything but the landscaping should be done and signed off on within a month. Six weeks should see the resort ready to go.” Pursing his lips, he turned in a slow circle, nodding to himself. “Elias is handling staff interviews, with Callie’s help.”

Oh, that should be a joy, Grit thought in amusement. Callie was the poster girl for Littles; she and Alicia could bring in a healthy income broadcasting their daily antics on a podcast. Interviewing people for positions in a kink club?

Elias was a brave man.

“Levi’s already hired, obviously,” Evander continued, referring to his erotic photographer friend. “We decided to build him some living quarters in his studio, with his approval. “Fordham Dewitt will be joining us as well, and of course, Liam and Sierra are going to become part of the Serenity family for however long they want.”

“Juggling a lot of security balls there,” Grit pointed out.

“Not really. Levi and Ford are old friends. I know they’ll fit in here without an issue. Liam is somewhat of a lesser known entity, but Braun and Atticus vouched for him without hesitation.” Dark eyes focused on Grit. “Anyone who steps foot on the property will have to sign an NDA. No exceptions, staff or clientele. Handpicking Dominants to not only monitor but teach is going to be hard, but general staff selection shouldn’t be too complicated. Excellent rates of pay, good working conditions, additional benefits… treat your employees well, Grit, and they repay you in kind.”

“Is that a subtle lure?”

“Well, you haven’t given me an answer yet. I figure some gentle nudges won’t go amiss.” Evander turned and began to walk toward the cabins. “I also thought now might be a good time to give you a firm, persuasive shove in our direction.”

“Oh really? Color me intrigued.”

“Your skills and experience are invaluable to us,” his friend told him without preamble. “I believe we told you that when we made the offer. Unfortunately, time is ticking past and the matter of club security is quickly becoming less of a future issue and more of an imminent one.”

Grit studied the stone-flagged path leading up to a single-story cabin. Sunlight glinted off the new windows and the spray of water firing in an arch across the newly laid turf lawn. “Before we left Phoenix, I spoke with Jasper and Atticus about my plans for the future. Not just within the company, but my life outside it as well.”

“And?”

“Needless to say neither of them are happy I’m considering your offer, but they understand the allure of it. My years as a merc are limited; every mission has the potential to be my last. My priority now is…” Grit trailed off, wondering if he’d jinx everything if he finished the sentence.

“A young blonde who likes to play with knives?”

“Yeah.” As if she could be summed up into such a simple combination of words.

“But you haven’t discussed this with her yet?”

“Is it that obvious?” He sighed and shook his head. “Discussing it with Tabby means laying it all out for her—how I feel, what I want, how I see the next year, two, five, ten. Where I want to be by the time I’m fifty.”

“With her, I’m guessing?” Evander nodded when Grit gave him an exasperated confirmation. “I don’t know you well enough to psychoanalyze you, but I’ll go out on a limb. Love equals marriage, kids, the promise of a lifetime together. You’re at the in-love stage of things and Tabitha… she’s either not quite there yet, or she is and doesn’t know how to deal with it?”

“Her parents didn’t teach her how to feel. An emotionless puppet is easier to control. Love is a myth to her, as farfetched as faeries and dragons. If I don’t say the words, nothing’s going to change much.” Aside from the fact he’d die a little every now and then from not telling her how he felt. “If I do… she might stay for a while, try and pretend to feel the same, or she’ll run halfway around the world and disappear.”

“Hmm. I think you need to have a bit more faith in her, Grit. Just because she wasn’t taught how to feel doesn’t mean she can’t learn. Christ, Jasper went through the same hell and look at him now—a beautiful wife, gorgeous kids who may or may not take over the world before they’re teenagers, and a life any man would be proud to claim.”

“Him being the operative word. I read the scientist’s notes, Evander. Documentation spanning years’ worth of inflicted pain and torture on a child. The bitch got off on writing down every detail of Tabitha’s suffering, from one experiment to another, from one rape to the next.”

The massive body beside him grew in size, anger broadening an already bullish frame. Muscles flexing, Evander scowled at him. “Has Tabitha read them?”

“No, and she’s not going to. Jasper has the file locked away.” He nearly mentioned the tapes, but he didn’t want Tabitha catching even a hint of their existence. Because it was just them two standing in front of the cabin, Grit took a gamble. “She asked me to fuck her on the plane.”

“Judging by your expression, you were ever the stalwart hero, denying yourself in order to protect her?”

Despite the fact three days had passed since that memorable flight, Grit still tasted her on his tongue. She’d been withdrawn since they landed, quiet on a different level; hence her impromptu playdate with Callie under Eli’s eagle-eyed supervision.

“I’m no hero. Penetrative sex is beyond her scope right now, but I told her we’d try. We didn’t get that far,” he said dryly. “Reading those notes… fuck, Evander, they did things to her no sane person would even think about doing to someone else, let alone a child. There’s nothing to salvage; every part of her is scarred by one act or another. She can’t differentiate between me and them; in her mind, sex is to be feared no matter who’s in bed with her.”

“Hmm.” Tugging thoughtfully on his beard, Evander shot him a sidelong glance. “I can either pat you on the head and indulge your pity party or I can be brutally honest. You got a preference?”

“Knock some sense into me,” Grit invited.

“Seems to me you’re not only underestimating the little hellcat, which is a travesty when she’s obviously going against her own protocols to trust you, but you’re doing a really good job of demoralizing yourself in the process as well.” Raising his chin, the massive Dom took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve seen you with her. I witnessed her freak out and fall apart, only to watch her piece herself back together with you handing her the shards. You are a good man, Grit, and a compassionate Dominant. Perhaps you think otherwise?” he asked when Grit simply grunted.

“I’ve made mistakes with her.”

“We all make mistakes. I’d think with a woman of Tabitha’s caliber, with all her bravado and phobias, her unsavory history, the potential to make those mistakes is considerably higher. She’s a battlefield laced with landmines; tread carefully or she’ll blow up and take a limb or two with her.”

“Literally,” Grit muttered.

Evander chuckled. “Exactly. She’s a woman who survived a horribly abusive childhood full of sexual violence and trauma, yet she allows you to touch her. Voluntarily, Grit, which is… amazing, in all honesty. I’d say not only are you the right man for her, you’re probably going to be the only man for her. That level of trust is what some Doms dream of without ever achieving.”

Okay, maybe that made sense. A sub who never experienced the greater travesties of life could trust more easily, especially if she held onto her innocence. For Tabitha, trust wasn’t a common element in her life; she needed to work at giving it, and the effort made the gift all the more precious.

“Maybe it will take you longer to culminate the relationship with sex, but if she’s already asked for it, it’s on her mind.” Those dark eyes were curious, thoughtful, when they met Grit’s. “Have you considered—and I’m asking this knowing what kind of man you are—just ripping the Band-Aid off in one go?”

He had. There was no point denying it—fleetingly, sure, but even the thought came close to crossing his line of morality. She needed to fight to feel in control; they’d already proven that.

The question was, at what point did her fighting stop being about holding the reins and become a genuine attempt to protect herself?

Yet that was what she’d asked for on the jet, wasn’t it? No foreplay, no niceties, just get on with it and fuck her.

When he said that to Evander, the big guy nodded slowly. “She’s scared.”

“So am I.” The admission didn’t cost him as dearly as he’d thought, not when it was Evander. The guy was calm and unflappable, with a moral compass as strong as Grit’s, and a wealth of wisdom. “The first time is gonna be the worst; I know it, she knows it. If I let her push me, if we rush into it and just fuck without taking her past into the equation, it’s not going to be any better than every time Dominic raped her. I don’t want to regret anything about being with her, but more importantly, I really don’t want her to regret it either.”

One huge hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing in solidarity. “It goes deeper than that. It’s just you and me and the wilds of Denver out here, Grit; it doesn’t make you weak to tell me the truth.”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching and releasing. On a frustrated growl, he ran his finger through his hair, fisting the too-long strands and yanking. “Fine, you want the truth? I’m fucking terrified we do it her way and it reminds her of being raped. That she thinks I’m raping her. That she just fucking endures it while fear rips her open.”

“That’s a valid point. However, I’m going to redirect you back to my previous comment about you being a good man, compassionate Dom, yadda blah. You’ve been in the lifestyle long enough to read a sub, Grit. More than that, you understand her well enough to realize when she’s in that predicament. She has a safeword, right?”

“I wouldn’t touch her without one.” Talking to Evander was calming, soothing all the strife this situation was creating. “I can’t say I trust her to use it if she needs it—not because she’s stubborn as fuck and about as prideful as a macho gym prick,” he hastened to add when Evander frowned. “When the terror hits, she disassociates. Sometimes she actively utilizes it as a defense mechanism.”

“That’s definitely a concern.” Humming softly under his breath, Evander shifted slightly. “When Eli and I decided to work on desensitizing Callie to her triggers, we spent an evening at Avalon. Thane chaperoned us the entire time, from start to finish.” He lifted a broad shoulder. “It was a relief to have that support; Thane was discreet, his interactions with us were only when they were required, and Callie forgot he existed. A silent observer whose only job that night was to ensure Callie remained safe throughout the scene.”

Grit blinked. “Did he think you and Elias were going to ignore her safeword?”

“Not at all. There were circumstances I won’t get into right now, but we asked for a safety net. It was a kindness I’d like to pay forward; if you think it would help, either Elias or I would be happy to be the silent observer.” A smile twitched his lips before it blossomed into a grin. “I’d say Callie would too, but if she’s in Little mode, you’re more likely to have a curious active participant. Plus, she’s like a pitbull if she thinks someone is hurting her friends.”

The offer stunned Grit to the point of silence. It was selfless, a safety net as Evander called it. Whether Tabitha would be comfortable was another question, although he supposed she was used to being watched—that alone was enough to decline the gift.

Grit didn’t have an issue with it. He’d done scenes in private, in public, and been on the giving and receiving end of demonstrations. He was at ease in his own skin, his techniques in bed weren’t anything to be ashamed of, and sex wasn’t a taboo subject in his eyes.

“Don’t give me an answer yet. Think it over, talk to Tabitha. We think of you as family, both of you, and we know how hard it can be traversing those minefields.” Evander dropped his hand from Grit’s shoulder and dug into his pocket. “Now, why don’t I finish giving you a tour of my bribe so you can get back to your hellcat?”

“Evander…” Grit cleared his throat. “I appreciate it, more than you know.”

“The family who plays together, stays together,” he quipped, and slapped Grit on the back with enough friendly force to send him stumbling forward a step. “A helping hand costs nothing.”