Without Mercy, page 14
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
He heaved a mighty sigh as he walked up to the lodge with key in hand. As he unlocked the door, he mulled over his meeting with Rusya. It didn’t fucking make sense that the boss had him drive up to Kelowna. Nothing was said that couldn’t have been said in a phone call. Mind you, Anto wouldn’t have stayed on the phone long enough for Rusya to have it traced. Anto stayed alive by not trusting anyone, not Dean Copeland, not Rusya, definitely not Jackman. After he left Savisin’s estate, he was careful to keep his eye out for anyone following him, but the roads were empty except for a few dedicated truckers.
He tensed again as he stepped into the lodge and closed the door. He fumbled in the dark until he found the table lamp next to the couch. As he flicked it on, it cast enough light for him to find his way around. First thing he did was walk over to Marisol’s prison. He pressed his body against the bars, bringing his hands up beside his head and wrapping his fingers tightly around the bars. He leaned in and studied her.
She was soundly sleeping, which surprised him. He didn’t think she would have been able to settle down and by the looks of the sheets and blanket, she had been restless before she fell asleep. He listened to her soft breaths, watched her graceful form as she lay on her side, face toward him. She mewled a little as she shifted slightly and his cock took notice. Her lips were beautiful. He could picture them in his mind, plush, soft, the corners turned up just a little, making her appear appraising of everything. Until she smiled. Then she was transformed into a sexy Irish spright. Her skin was lightly tanned and perfectly creamy, a few errant freckles across the bridge of her nose.
His thoughts drifted back to her mouth and he closed his eyes as he imagined her lips wrapped around his dick, sucking it, licking it. His semi-hard erection went rigid at the thought of her on her knees in front him, her hot wet mouth sheathing him. Her moans as she struggled to take all of him in. He opened his eyes, staring hard at her, hesitated and then unbolted the door. Fuck that she was dead asleep, fuck that he was dead tired. Everything about this situation made him tense, he needed release. And she was laying right in front of him, wrapped up in blankets like a birthday present, long red hair like the pretty bow on top.
He closed the door of the cage with a little bang, enough noise to startle her out of her deep slumber. She opened her eyes and swiftly sat up, a flare of panic in her face until she recognized Anto. Even after their lovemaking, she was still wary of him. He wasn’t offended by that. It made her smart. He doubted he would ever hurt her, but maybe his fascination with her would one day pass. He also doubted that.
“Marisol,” he said gruffly, his cock pushing at the zipper of his jeans as he said her name. The blankets were pooled around her hips, her legs tucked to the side under them. That was okay, it wasn’t her pussy he wanted. It was her mouth.
“Anto, thank god you’re back.” He only heard his name as it fell breathlessly from her lips, further inflaming his cock. He took three long strides and was at the bed, at her side, towering over her, blocking the light and casting her in shadows. She craned her neck to look up at him and he heard the hitch in her breathing. He stroked her hair as he stared down at her, cradled her head, touched the side of her face, dragging his fingers down her cheek to her chin, then tracing his thumb across her lips. She didn’t move, just kept her eyes to his, waiting for him. Lust rippled through him as he saw the trust and acceptance in her face. She was at his mercy and she was not resisting.
The silence stretched between them for a moment, him stroking her face, she content to let him, her hands cradled in her lap. Finally, he said, “Undo my pants and take my cock out. Carefully. It’s hard.”
She barely hesitated as she brought slightly trembling hands up to the button on his jeans and fumbled it open before slowly unzipping the pants.
His show of trust to her. He was more vulnerable right now than he’d ever been. Letting his captive woman wrap her hands around his dick, drawing it out, and then stroking it gently as she stared up at him. Waiting. “Suck it, Marisol. Make me come.”
She dropped her eyes to his cock as she ran a tongue across her lips hesitantly. He wondered how much experience she had at this, then almost deflated as an unexpected rage ripped through him. The thought of her with other men bounced around his head and he shut his eyes to it, trying to exorcise it. He’d have to ask her, but then she shifted to her knees, her ass on her feet bringing his attention back to her, back to his lust. As she wrapped a hand tentatively around the base, she slid his cock into her mouth and over her tongue, taking him in as deep as she could. He groaned his pleasure.
His lust for her was fucking with his self-control. He wanted this to last, wanted her to take her time, minister to him, gentle like her. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his balance, willing his hands to stay fisted at his sides. He stood solid and still as she stroked him with her mouth, his penis gliding over her tongue, to the edge of her throat and then back out again, the coolness of the air grabbing at it before it plunged back into the depth of her warm wet mouth. As she slid him out of her mouth, her hand swept up his cock, lubricated by her saliva. She knew enough to hold him tight, like a strong handshake. He let loose a guttural grunt when she brought her other hand up to his balls, stroking them carefully, gently squeezing one and then the other. He wanted her to suck them too, but he didn’t want her to stop sucking his cock, so he said nothing.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, him not moving, not touching her. She kept a steady even pace, occasionally tightening her lips to wrap around his helmet, finding the hole and tracing it with the tip of her tongue. It was torturous for Anto, his breathing was heavy and his noisy groans sounded foreign to his ears. He’d never had a blowjob like this in his life. The slow cadence, the sensual exploration, not aggressive, not whorish. He didn’t know what to do.
But his blood was heating up, and he could feel little tremors running through him. He was getting close and he needed her to take him all the way. He didn’t want the savage in him to spill over, but he couldn’t hold himself back. He took her head between his hands, his fingers fisting her hair as he started thrusting into her mouth. His breathing deepened and he grunted harshly, grinding his groin towards her face, taking her over. She dropped her hand from his balls and grabbed onto the fabric of his jeans. She needed to brace herself as he thrust deeply into her, lust driving him to force himself as deeply as he could. But she kept her grip on his penis using it to prevent him from choking her.
He dimly heard her gasping for breath as his own breathing became jagged and hoarse, his heart thudding in his chest, his thrusting erratic. And then he came, his body a minefield, his orgasm the trigger as it raced through him savagely and consuming. His semen spurted from him and into her mouth and he saw the bob of her throat as she swallowed it. She froze as he pumped into her, his thrusts easing as his orgasm faded. His knees almost buckled and he had to steady himself. He withdrew from her mouth, then tucked his balls and dick back into his jeans dropping on the bed beside her. He cradled her in his arms and brought his lips to hers in a crushing kiss, exploring her mouth, tasting his semen.
Marisol whimpered and shifted, her hands pushing against his chest. He eased his hold on her and dropped his lips to her neck, kissing it, licking it, nibbling it. Neither spoke as he nuzzled her shoulder, the hollow of her neck, her ears. Then he stopped as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He had no more in him tonight. He let her go and stood, dragging his spent body to the door of the cell. He paused as he crossed the threshold. “Do you need to pee?”
Confusion and hurt flitted across Marisol’s face, but she said nothing except, “No.”
“Go back to sleep,” he ordered as he clanged the cell door shut, threw the bolts and left her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mari did go back to sleep, but not right away. How could she? He came into the cell, selfishly took what he wanted and then left, locking her in. It was erotic, everything about it. His wordless dominance of her, his power touching her even though his hands did not. His control, staying still and steady, until the end. Then his invasion of her, body and soul, taking her over, forcing his will, coming in her mouth, claiming her. The wetness between her thighs, the ache in her nipples, the heat in her belly. The expectation. Then his abandonment of her.
She was tossing and turning again. Last night it was because he left her alone and locked up. She’d felt so vulnerable. Trapped. Horrible images of him getting into a car wreck, ending up in a coma or worse, and her in this cabin, undiscovered, slowly starving to death. And he hadn’t left a light on, so she was alone in the dark. Every creak, every night sound, every ominous whisper of the wind in the rafters was horribly amplified.
The other reality was even more disturbing. She missed the Russian thug and she couldn’t get him out of her head. The timbre of his voice as he spoke, his hearty laughter, his hard body and the agile way he moved. His quirkiness, the power he exuded, but also the kindness he showed. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d touched her, held her down as he fucked her. It was mind blowing for her, his sheer dominance, his command of her. It turned her on in a way she’d never known.
Every time she tried to settle, her mind turned to him, her aloneness and fear giving way to desire that stoked the burn between her thighs. She’d tried stroking herself but couldn’t find release. Even when she closed her eyes and pictured him, bending her over the table, filling her from behind, forcing himself between her legs, holding her hard, pounding into her, none of it was enough. In the past, her fantasies served the purpose, but now, they couldn’t replace the real thing. She needed Anto there, with her.
That fuelled her tension so that when she finally did fall asleep it was deep and dreamless. Until Anto opened her cell and shoved his cock down her throat, then left her, not asking after her, not tending to her needs. He’d barely spoke to her. He grunted at her, caveman style, not sharing his body or his information. She resented both. It confused and unsettled her.
Dawn was forcing its way into the lodge when Mari finally dozed off for the second time. The next time she woke, the sun was lighting up the room. She heard, rather than saw Anto. He was punching the bag again, rattling the rafters, grunts fused with heavy breathing. She wondered how long he’d been up and then decided it was a pointless train of thought. She slipped out of the bed and walked to the door of her cage, rattling the bars aggressively but saying nothing. Maybe she should just walk up to him, force him to his knees and shove his face into her pussy. Get him to finish the job, then abandon him and his hard-on.
Self-doubt crept in as Anto stepped out from behind the punching bag and gazed at her. No smile this morning, his face was serious, impassive and his perusal of her aggressive. Maybe he was using her. In spite of his words, his self-confessed attraction to her, maybe it was all bullshit to keep her compliant. Her heart shredded a little as she watched him stride towards the cage and open the door. He stepped back as she stepped out and turned toward the bathroom without greeting him. He let her go, said nothing.
He was in the kitchen when she stepped back out, pouring coffee into two cups. He handed one to her as he walked by. “Come sit with me Marisol.” Commanding her, no space in his words for anything but docile obedience.
She followed him over to the couch, cradling the coffee in her hands, taking a sip before sitting down. As she settled in, he scooted closer, crowding her with his body. She felt small next to him, cocooned and off-balance. She broke the lingering silence. “What shall we talk about, Anto?”
He looked at her and grinned, his face handsome and open. “Let’s talk about blowjobs, Marisol. You give excellent ones.”
Mari knew she was scowling as she looked at him. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, trying for derisive, but her words were too soft around the edges.
He took her cup from her hands and set it on the table next to his, then reached for her, pulling her by her waist and thighs until she was sitting on his lap. “Are you telling me you didn’t?”
How could she answer that? Yes, she certainly did. It was one of the most erotic, intimate moments she’d ever experienced. She knew that part of that was because it had been Anto cradling her head, thrusting into her mouth. Because of who he was and how she felt about him. Not a saviour, not a seducer, not even someone she might have ever been drawn to. Yet she knew, without doubt, that he was someone she could love. Maybe already did. He made her feel whole, understood, safe. She could be anything with him and he accepted her without reserve, even when she was a rabbit. She didn’t wither under his words, his taunts, maybe because she understood him too, knew he said what he thought. This all flitted through her head but nothing came out of her lips.
“Are you angry with me? Because I am a pig, making you blow me and then just walking away?”
Mari said in a small voice, “You didn’t make me.” She needed to say that, needed to convince herself that she maintained control over her decisions, needed to believe that he wasn’t pushing her into something she didn’t want.
Anto shifted her around on his lap and forced her legs to each side of his. Her pussy rested on his pelvis and she could feel his erection through his shorts. He cradled the back of her neck with one hand as he slid his other hand between her thighs, drawing a finger through the curve between her thigh and pussy. She shuddered and felt her nipples tingle as they hardened. He growled into her ear, “Did I leave you wanting more, Marisol? How would you like me to say sorry?”
She tried to lean back from him so she could see his face, see what he was thinking, but his hand tightened on her neck, holding her to him, her head on his chest as he stroked her. “I’m a little selfish, Marisol.” His finger slipped away from her thigh and he drew it through the folds of her pussy, stopping at her clit, polishing it before moving away. “But in my defense, that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had. You left me too weak to do anything but collapse.”
Mari jerked back so abruptly that he lost his grip on her neck. Cold sliced through her and she struggled to get off his lap. “Stop playing games with me, Anto.” The words sounded limp and she got angry at herself for their lack of force. She stumbled backwards a few steps as he let her go, jarring the coffee table and spilling the coffee.
Anto ignored it, staying on the sofa, hands on his knees, looking up at her, his eyes hooded, a frown tugging at his lips. “I don’t play games, Marisol.”
She huffed, blowing her breath out as she narrowed her eyes. “All you do is play games with me, Anto. At first, fine. I get it. But not now. Not after this…” She blinked back tears as she swept her hand out between them.
Anto’s face tightened as he stood up. His voice sounded like a drum as his words thumped her, “You are accusing me of lying to you.” It was a flat angry statement. “I don’t have to seduce you; we’re past that.”
Mari gasped as hurt stabbed her.
“I say nothing to you I don’t mean.” Then he reached out for her, grabbing her chin and holding it tightly between his fingers and thumb as he forced her eyes to meet his stormy ones. “Remember that. Always. Just because I am fond of you doesn’t mean you may question my word. That I will not tolerate.”
This served to fuel Mari’s anger and even though a small voice inside her suggested she should maybe be a little frightened of Anto, it wasn’t as loud as the rage pounding through her veins. “That’s bullshit, Anto,” she snapped, the first time her words had a sharp edge to them. She pulled out of his grip and paced away. “Who do you think I am? Some silly woman who will fall at your feet when you hand out pretty compliments!”
“Marisol – ” he growled.
But she wouldn’t let him interrupt her. “I may not be worldly like you, but I wasn’t a nun before you came along. I know about sex, I know about blowjobs and I know about men. So stop playing your stupid games with me and just say what you mean!”
She was shouting at him and as she hurled her words, he seemed to grow taller, stiffer, his face suffused with his own anger. He stalked toward her and circled her biceps with an iron grip, giving her a small shake, enough to get her full attention. Enough to jar her out of her anger. A cold fear replaced it.
Now he was shouting. “Don’t you fucking accuse me of playing games with you. You might think you know men, but you don’t know me. You fuck around with boys, I’m a man and you better figure out how to treat me like one. Get over your fucking insecurities. I know blowjobs, Marisol. They are one of my favourite things and last night was the best fucking blowjob I’ve ever had. Live with it.”
Mari was shaking. His words thundered through her and his hands squeezing her arms squelched any rejoinder she might have had.
“Why do you have to make everything so goddamned hard?” He dropped his hands from her arms and ran one through his hair. It was shaking. He turned his back to her and stomped over to the punching bag, slamming his fist into it. “So much of this doesn’t make sense and I’m not sure who to trust. I’m afraid for your life. I couldn’t stand being away from you last night. I needed you, Marisol, no strings, no pressure. I just needed you to be real and not some phantom perfect woman.”
Mari stood rooted in place, stunned at his admission. He needed her? Perfect woman? She drew in a deep shaky breath. “Anto.” Then she stopped. She didn’t know what to say.
He swung around and faced her. “I don’t explain myself to anyone. No one! Ever. So consider this a privilege!”
She bit her lip as he glared at her. Then she walked to him, butterflies warring in her stomach as she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He was saying the truth and it couldn’t have been easy for him. A few seconds lapsed before he circled her with his arms and drew her tightly to him. She felt his lips softly brush the top of her head. She looked up into his face, into his stony watchful eyes.
