Author: Pepper Winters

She pulled away. “I know.” Disappearing into my wardrobe, she came back with a belt. Her eyebrow raised, looking at my other hand. I kept my palms curled, hiding the III tattooed in the centre.

I obediently placed my wrist against the bedhead, hissing as she straddled me, deliberately brushing her jean-clad pussy against my extremely hard cock.

She tightened the belt before resuming her kneeling position between my splayed legs. Her hot breath tickled my upper thighs, and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait.

I wanted her mouth. Terribly.

“Tell me what you want,” she said softly.

I shook my head. It was one thing to accept what she wanted to give, but I couldn’t tell her what I wanted. Not after everything. I owed her more than I’d ever be able to repay.

“I want to hear you say it.” Her eyes flashed and her fingers squeezed me in warning.

A flush of heat threatened to paint my cheeks. After a lifetime of being told to forget about sex, she now wanted me to dive in and embrace it. Swallowing hard, I growled, “I want to feel your mouth around my cock. I want to feel your heat and hear you moan from my taste.”

Fuck me. I could’ve come just from talking dirty. It turned me on—sent comets exploding in my cock.

Zel smiled. “As you wish.”

Keeping eye contact, she bent over me, and without any warning, slid her hot, wet, exquisite mouth over the tip of my erection.

My world went from black to prismatic. I’d never felt such wonderment, such freedom, such deep seated primal happiness. My heart swelled; my limbs locked. I couldn’t focus on anything but her. Her. Her.

I groaned with gratefulness and thankfulness and joy. Her fucking amazing mouth sucked my length deep, deep inside. The swirl of her slippery tongue licked and adored, giving me no chance of remaining sane. I lost myself to Zel. I willingly gave everything to her.

“Like that?” she breathed against my lower belly. “Do you enjoy my tongue licking you, pleasuring you?” She trailed kisses from base to tip, always stroking.

I groaned, trembling with a mixture of furious conditioning and heavenly pleasure. “Yes. Fuck yes. Don’t stop.”

She laughed softly and descended once again. Her hand slid up and down, lubricated by saliva, feeling out of this world. A bonfire built deep in my balls.

I flinched, testing the restraints as Zel cupped me, massaging sensitive flesh. I couldn’t keep track of her mouth and fingers and touch.

My brain tried to revert into Ghost mode. My muscles shuddered with orders that would never be fully ignorable.

Then Zel swallowed my length and hummed. The vibrations smashed through my conditioning, bulldozed through my thoughts, and I regressed to a simple creature. A man chasing pleasure for the first time. An animal with the only intent of coming in this beautiful seraph’s throat.

The bed jangled and shook as I fought against the restraints. I wanted to touch her, thread my fingers through her hair and thrust into her mouth. I wanted to give her everything.

But the cuff and belt held me captive, leaving me completely at Zel’s mercy.

Her mouth sucked harder, dragging more and more fire into my groin. My spine tingled with need; my eyes snapped closed.

Zel was magic. She was a witch. I wanted to come forever.

The last of my undoing came in the form of her hair cascading onto my thigh. The tickling amplified my awareness of her hot, slippery mouth and her tongue swirled harder, building me faster, sending me hurtling toward the edge.

I had no choice but to let go.

I completely forgot who I was and the disaster my life had become and dropped all my walls to my soul.

I came like a fucking garden hose.

Spurt after spurt I jerked in her hold. She lapped up every thrust, swallowed every drop. No amount of prose or literature could describe the intensity, the visceral sublimity of my release.

It changed me. It gave me warmth for the very first time. It gave me fucking hope.

I opened my eyes as her tongue flicked out, washing me clean from the last of the most intense orgasm of my life. She’d taken a part of me into her. She’d completed the bond that I’d felt ever since I set eyes on her.

No one had made me feel like Zel. No one held me hostage like Zel.

She’d successfully done in ten minutes what I’d tried to do in two years.

She brought me back to life.

Chapter 11

Life has a way of lulling unsuspecting victims into a false sense of security. Providing answers to problems that seem too hard to fix. Giving love to combat loneliness. Sending a kind word in a moment of doubt.

But it was those moments that made you weak, and that was when life struck the hardest.

I thought in my naivety I’d found a way to help Fox. That I’d done the impossible and made progress with a man so psychologically damaged. I thought I’d find a cure for Clara thanks to Fox’s money. I thought so many happy, hopeful things.

But just like everything.

I was wrong.

A week passed after our fight and the unfortunate incident of Fox trying to strangle me. After seeing his naked legs and sewing the stab wounds I inflicted, I’d hoped he’d get over his issue of clothing and nudity.

But not once did I see his legs again, or his chest or back or arms. I’d catch myself watching him, tracing his muscles beneath his black shirt, wishing I could touch and taste.

The longer he remained elusive, the more my mind went wild with what he kept hidden. What if he was so badly mutilated under the clothing that I’d burst into tears, grieving for a little boy who’d never had a hand laid on him in friendship or love? What if he hid something even more sinister?

The morning after our fight—after I made him break apart with my mouth—things changed between us. He accepted my need to return home in the evenings. And we silently agreed to start from scratch.

We never discussed the contract—we didn’t need to. As far as I was concerned, the agreement was void. What happened gave us something deeper than a piece of paper. Fox would still pay me, and I would still accept it for my daughter, but we’d evolved past exchanging one commodity for another.

We became friends.

A few days after the incident, I tried to change his bandages to inspect the stitches in his leg, but he flatly denied me and moved as if he had no injury. He was the master at masking pain.

As strange as it seemed, we understood each other and time moved forward. Fox knew I wouldn’t put up with his violence, and I knew he wouldn’t tolerate being touched.

It was a whole new world full of wanting and fearing.

During the day, I stayed with Fox. We explored his house, or went for walks in the semi-wild gardens around his property. He showed me how to help with the paperwork of Obsidian and most days I sat beside him at his desk filing receipts, sending out monthly invoices for membership, and offering suggestions on how to improve productivity.

Instead of being possessive of his company, Fox listened intensely, nodding to advice, and softly answering questions about the legal aspects of his club.

Our minds found even ground, laying the foundation for a topsy-turvy friendship that seethed with chemistry and need, but was never acted upon.

Fox opened his life to me—every avenue of his business, every account and password on his computer—but not once did he let me touch him, or ask anything about his past.

The smiles he gave were tinged with shadows; the laughs echoed with loneliness. My heart screamed for him to recognise the gift I wanted to give him. I wanted the honour of healing him. I wanted the joy of bringing him true happiness.

But it didn’t seem possible.

I’d catch him watching me as I bent over his books or walked silently by his side. His smoky eyes were so damn expressive he didn’t need words.

The message was loud and clear.

Why are you still here?

Why waste your time on me?

I’ll only destroy you.

I ignored those messages. I also ignored my own thoughts.

Lying in bed at night, listening to the soft breathing of Clara, I rifled through my feelings toward him.

I’d told him I hadn’t forgiven him for the bruises and terrible fear he’d instilled in me. Even though I lived a dangerous past, facing pain and not-so-perfect choices, I’d never been so petrified before. The thoughts running through my head when his fingers crushed my windpipe had been full of Clara. She’d never know how much I loved her. She’d never understand I’d do anything for her.

But then, thankfulness layered my horror. Thankful that I would die before my offspring—I wouldn’t have to see her wither and beg for help I couldn’t give.

Fox made me assess every inch of my life and I hated him for it. I didn’t think I’d ever truly get over what he’d done, but at the same time, he was the most real and unapologetic man I’d ever met.

Fox never told me where he went on the night he took me, but the bruises around his eye and cheek bone had faded to a muddy yellow. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to his joints clicking or his back creaking whenever he moved after sitting for a period of time. He sounded like an old tin solider badly in need of some oil.

At five p.m. every night, I would leave Fox and catch a taxi from his home to mine. He’d given me the one hundred thousand cash he promised, and I was able to afford another trial inhaler for Clara. He tried to drive me, but I flat-out refused. While I admitted I had a fondness for him, an insatiable need to fix him, and a craving for him physically, I was still afraid of what he was capable of. He was an undetonated hand-grenade, and I had no intention of letting him near Clara. He had his secrets, and I had mine. That was the way it had to be.

Clara would launch her warm, squirmy body into my arms and we’d eat together, watch television, do her homework, then giggle and talk in the dark until she fell asleep. I hoarded those moments like gold dust, locking each memory into a safe inside my mind, knowing each recollection would torture me when she was gone.

Every morning, I woke with the hope that doctors had diagnosed wrong. Clara seemed too healthy and vibrant—her hair glossy, eyes bright and mind inquisitive.

At ten a.m. every day I would return to Fox and climb into his bed. He’d wake, smile, then go back to sleep, leaving me to sunbathe in bright sunshine, keeping vigil until midday when he woke.

For a week, I balanced my two lives perfectly; I began to think it could work.

But of course, life liked to prove me wrong.

“Holy crap, you scared me,” I said, clutching the folders tighter against my chest. It was early afternoon, and I’d been working on ordering more supplies for Obsidian’s fighters. Fox had disappeared an hour ago, saying he’d be back.

I didn’t expect him to be silent and lurking against the black walls of his office—completely unnoticeable until he moved.

His lips twitched but he didn’t fully smile. He never did. Just once I’d like to see him let go and be happy.

If he knew how to, of course.

“Sorry. I was waiting for you.” He moved forward and took the heavy files from me, placing them on his desk. I’d been down on the fighting floor with Oscar taking note of the dwindling supplies that we needed.

He’d asked for more hookers, and I slapped him playfully. As much as I didn’t want to admit—I liked Oscar. He’d called me a whore and grabbed my boob, but beneath the brash exterior lurked a fun-some surfer whose blue eyes caused one or two wings of attraction in my stomach.

He was so different to Fox. Sun to dark. Happy to brooding. But I wouldn’t stray—not that I had any relationship obligations to Fox apart from a money transaction—but my feelings had grown from lust to something deeper.

I no longer thought about our time together just for a month. I would stay until Fox smiled with his soul. I would stay until he could make love to me like I wanted him to.

And if he hurts you again?

I’d leave and never look back. I had feelings for him but I didn’t have a death wish.