Caging Liberty, page 15
“Mm-hmm.”
He gives me one last grin before spinning and leaving through the back door. I scratch at the stubble on my cheek and head for the bathroom.
My steps slow when I get near the bathroom door, deflating at the soft cry that filters into the hall. My shoulders hunch and my mouth sinks into a frown.
I sigh and step up to the door, lifting my fist. I knock softly and turn my head so my ear is nearly pressed against the door.
“Ivy?”
Seconds go by without a response, and I sigh. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck off, Mr. A,” she sneers, emphasizing my title in a way that’s more insulting than the, “fuck off.”
I glance behind me down the hall and debate over leaving to give her some space. Something tells me that would make things worse.
I turn back toward the door, more guilt sifting in.
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” It didn’t seem like you minded it. Because I’m not entirely stupid, I don’t add that last part.
I grasp the knob and jiggle it, but of course, the door’s locked.
I knock again. “Open up so we can talk.”
I listen, fully expecting another phrase containing the word ‘fuck,’ but there’s only silence.
Her island name sits on the edge of my tongue, but when I open my mouth, I hesitate. A gust of air rushes past my lips instead. “Lib, please.”
Another minute passes before the lock clicks and the door opens. Her hand stays on the edge of the door, ready to swing it shut at any moment. Her eyes are glossy and red from crying, but she’s wiped the tears from her face.
“Please leave me alone,” she says, her voice deceptively even.
“No.”
Her lips pucker like she wasn’t expecting that. “Why? Are you not done humiliating me?”
“How did I humiliate you?”
Her jaw drops, and her eyes expand in disbelief.
My guilt eases to make room for annoyance. “Last night you broke into my home and threatened to kill me with my own gun, but what, I can’t have a fucking blowjob?”
Red tints her cheeks as she closes her mouth.
“I’m not your Prince Charming.”
“I never asked you to be.” Her voice is soft enough that I bite back my next retort.
Her bloodshot eyes meet mine. “I get what Sawyer was wanting. It was only a matter of time.” Her chest rises as she draws in a slow breath. “But did you have to be so eager?”
I scoff. “Did you?”
Too far. I can tell by the way she flinches at my words like they physically struck her.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a few seconds of silence. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Another moment passes. “And you’re right, I didn’t have to be so eager. I’m not sure how to hide the fact that I want you, though, and I don’t understand why you would expect me to. I’ve been pretty up front about my attraction toward you.”
She nods, but it seems more out of resignation than agreement. “Fine.”
More silence. I’m surprised she hasn’t slammed the door in my face.
“You don’t have to feel humiliated,” I say as gently as I can. “Sawyer doesn’t give a shit.”
She laughs dryly. “He thought it was hilarious.”
Yeah, he did.
“He thought my reaction to you was amusing. Neither of us expected you to be a porn star.”
Another poor choice of words. Her flinch is even more pronounced this time, and she points her gaze at the carpet. As an awkward tension forms between us, I finally start to pick up on what’s really wrong. She’s not horrified by the idea of sucking dick, she’s just embarrassed. But why? Because she was good at it?
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Regardless, she’s hurt. I can see it all over her face.
Guilt churns my stomach.
“I’m sorry.” I reach out and trail my fingertips down her arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not my Prince Charming, remember? Don’t backtrack now.”
I look up at the ceiling, exhaling through my nose. “I didn’t mean that to say I don’t care about you. I do. I’m just getting a little tired of having to rescue you while getting nothing in return.”
“Like sex?”
“No, like you.”
Her eyes lift to meet mine as her brow furrows.
“I’m not asking you to fuck me. I just want your trust. I’m not trying to ruin your life here, and I want you to stop treating me as if everything I do is intended to be some affront to you.”
A tear leaks from her eye, and she quickly swipes it away.
I step up closer to her and put my hands on her arms. “If it wasn’t me today, it would’ve been Sawyer. You had to give him something, Lib.”
“Liberty,” she whispers, swatting another tear away. “And I know.”
“Liberty,” I parrot, although I know for certain she goes by Lib. I’m sure it’s a ‘my friends call me Lib’ thing.
Does that bother me? A little. But I get it.
“What an ironic name,” I tease in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“Not as ironic as yours.”
I laugh at that and caress her face, tipping her chin so she looks at me. Weight lifts from me when I spot a tiny smile that glows with amusement. My lips twitch in return.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, studying her features.
She rubs beneath her eyes, getting rid of the residual tears. “Sure, until I see Sawyer again.” She chuckles, but there’s little humor to it.
“I’ll tell him not to tease so much.”
“I’m sure that’ll do loads of good.”
I finger a lock of her hair and let the sarcasm go. She’s probably right. Sawyer can be … insensitive is a nice way of putting it.
I inhale deeply, breathing in her flowery scent. My cock stirs, and my skin heats. Already, I want her again. Being this close… It fucking does something to me.
“Let me make this up to you,” I say, my voice heady.
She sways, leaning into my touch, yet it still feels as though she’s distancing herself from me at the same time.
“How?”
I flash her a grin and take her hand. “Come with me.”
When I turn and tug her hand, she stays put. “Angel…”
I look behind me, watching Lib’s throat maneuver as she swallows.
“I mean, Mr. A.”
“Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
I squeeze her hand but don’t attempt to pull again. “This is what I mean by wanting you to trust me.”
Her eyes draw together as she stares at me skeptically. I really can’t blame her for this, but I still resent it. Just last night, I told her I killed a woman. My slave, no less.
I should be patient, understanding, kind.
But I’m not. Because to me, this is a woman I’ve been vying for for years. I’ve already spent a huge amount of time invested in her. To her, I’m just a guy she met once years ago and has known for a couple of weeks. I’m someone to use, not someone to trust.
So yeah, it bothers me.
After a minute, her face softens, and I watch the resolve cross her expression. I try to guide her again, and this time she lets me. I lead her upstairs and into my bedroom. We lock eyes, but when I shut the door a moment later, she quickly looks away.
I take her hand again and urge her to the bed, amazed when she doesn’t protest.
“Lay down,” I say, gently prodding her.
“Under the covers?”
“No.”
She bites her lip and stands tall and tense for several seconds, her arms stiff by her sides. After several long beats of silence, she hesitantly climbs on the bed and lays down on her back, her gaze finding me. She studies me, searching for some sinister intention. I’m trying to keep my face impassive, but I don’t know that there’s any hiding the erection I have growing inside my pants. Her eyes find it, and my cock jumps. I ignore it the best I can and sit on the bed.
This isn’t about me. Not this time.
I run my hands from her shins to her knees, and when I try to pry them apart, she doesn’t budge. I lift my eyes to meet hers.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Trust me.”
She stares at me, clearly unsure. The T-shirt I laid at the end of her bed while she slept stops mid-thigh, and I have to force myself not to pull it up.
With great reluctance, she relaxes her knees. I open her legs and climb on the bed to situate myself between them. A hiss slips past her lips when I lift the T-shirt up and tuck my fingers under the waistband of her panties. She stiffens, and when I drag her panties down over her hips, she inhales sharply.
So do I. But for a very different reason.
I spread her legs wider to get a better look at her pink pussy, and my mouth waters. I stop trying to keep my expression neutral and let the desire taking over me show. It doesn’t matter anyway… Lib’s face is turned so she isn’t looking at me.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
I think for sure she’ll say no, but she surprises me by nodding. I’m not convinced, but I like the lie.
My hands smooth up her thighs before I run two fingers up her surprisingly slick folds. Lib’s hands form tight balls clutching the comforter, mimicking the tension in her crinkled eyelids. A shiver runs down my spine, and I lick my lips.
She gasps when I press my thumb against her clit, gently rubbing up and down.
“Relax,” I coo. “You’re not the only one who knows how to give oral.”
“All men think they’re good at oral,” she says with nervous amusement. “I hate to break it to you, but women are far better at faking than men are at doing.”
I chuckle. “Oh yeah? Did you fake your orgasms with Robert?”
Her expression buckles, and a sadness overtakes her face. Fuck, I am terrible with words.
I don’t need her to answer anyway. I already know.
“Do me a favor,” I say to pull Lib’s mind away from wherever she just went. I shift onto my stomach, resting my head against her inner thigh. “Don’t fake it.”
Before she can respond, I slide my tongue from her taint to her clit, and her thighs clamp around me. I tuck my hands underneath her legs to pull them apart.
My eyes close as I run my tongue up and down, tasting her. This part is mostly for me, although by the way she squirms, her back arching, I’d say she likes it. One taste, and I’m already an addict.
I force my hand around her thigh, spreading her wider, and use my thumb to rub circles on her clit. My tongue finds her honey-filled hole, and I slide inside, nuzzling my face against her while she subtly tries to pull away. I don’t think it’s her body fighting it, though, I’m pretty certain it’s her mind.
I fuck her with my tongue while increasing pressure on her clit, earning me a delicious moan. Another follows, and my cock strains painfully, blue balls already beginning to set in. Her moans almost sound reluctant, like she’s doing her best to hold back. Like she doesn’t want to believe I can unravel her as efficiently as she can unravel me.
Game on.
I drag my tongue up to her clit and purse my lips around it before sucking. Lib lets out a loud whimper while her hands thread into my hair and tug.
I fit a finger inside her and massage her walls, focusing my angle upward and searching until a low mewl signals I’ve found her G-spot.
I lick her clit, my tongue flat and firm, while sliding my finger back and forth inside her, increasing the pressure each time I hit the spot that has her pulling my hair.
“Fuck,” she groans, her legs gripping my head and forcing me closer. I guess her mind gave up.
Something slaps the headboard, and I open my eyes to see her knuckles turning white as she grips the bottom of it like she’s hanging on for dear life.
Her hips gyrate, meeting each of my thrusts. I insert another finger, relishing in the way her face contorts with pleasure. When she arches her back to lift herself higher, I shove my free hand under her ass to hold her up.
She rocks back and forth against my face, showing me the speed that she likes, teaching me something about Lib that I should’ve already known. She likes control. Unfortunately for her, so do I.
I remind myself this is for her and let her guide my movements. An idea strikes.
I pull away from Lib, and her eyes shoot open. She lets go of the headboard and braces herself on her elbows to look at me, her eyes holding a plea that has me burning with desire.
“Get up,” I order, unwrapping her legs from me.
A frown bows her lips as she pulls herself to a sitting position, but her eyes shine with interest when I shift up the bed and lay down on my back. I grab her hips and pull her toward me, and she understands what I want without me having to spell it out for her.
She throws her leg over me and positions herself to straddle my face. She lowers her pussy to my mouth, her T-shirt draping over me as I press my tongue inside her.
My fingers dig into her ass while I lick from her hole to her clit and back. When her hips start to move, I position my tongue on her clit and let her grind against me.
My vision is swallowed up by the T-shirt, so I have to settle on hearing alone to enjoy her loud moan and her palms slamming onto the top of the headboard. I suck her clit harder while she essentially fucks my face, and when her muscles seize, I quickly move to her hole to taste her when she comes.
Her thighs muffle her scream of approval for me, but it’s no less satisfying. As she comes down from her orgasm, her legs shake and her heavy breathing plays a symphony for my ears.
She slowly pulls a trembling leg over me before collapsing onto the bed. She shifts next me, and I drag her to lay on my chest. My fingers lazily glide over her shoulder as I stare up at the ceiling through hooded eyelids.
Lib slides her leg on top of mine and nuzzles her knee against my erection.
I let out a breathless laugh. “That’s not fair.”
“What, you don’t like to be teased?”
“No.” I look down at her and smile. She smiles back, but then lets it slowly fall.
“What?” I ask, fingering a lock of her hair.
Her eyes glisten in post-orgasm bliss, but there’s something else there too.
“Do you really want me to call you Mr. A?”
I consider her question for half a second before shaking my head. “Not when we’re alone, no.” I run my fingers through her hair. “But I’d prefer it if you called me Mr. A when anyone else is around. Sawyer has a thing about names, with the manor whores, at least… It’s a power thing.”
She nods absently and looks away. “Okay.”
“Hey.” I caress her face, then tilt it so she’s looking at me. “If it’s a problem for you, we’ll break that particular rule. Fuck Sawyer.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
She lets out a soft breath. “I fucking hate being called Ivy.”
I give her a small, understanding smile. “Then I won’t call you Ivy.”
“Like, at all?”
“Like, at all.”
“You won’t care if Sawyer gets pissed?”
I shake my head.
“But what if he—”
“Liberty.”
She closes her mouth, and I run my thumb over her lips. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
For the first time since I met her, she looks like she believes me. She snuggles her head against my chest and closes her eyes, her arm stretching across my abs to hug me close.
“Angel?”
“Hmm?”
She sighs, her breath kissing my skin.
“Thank you.”
19
Liberty
One month later
My hips sway to music that reminds me of my days in college.
I’d be out at a club with friends, usually my roommates, Tori and Mia. We’d start out sticking together, allowing the occasional guy to cut into our space if we deemed him worthy. At some point in the night, when our vision blurred and our heads were light enough for us to drift away in the arms of a barely-man in his early twenties, we’d break up.
We had an agreement that we would always find each other before leaving the club with someone, and every hour we’d meet in the bathroom to check in. We thought we were so clever about the careful way we stuck together, not capable of even imagining just how dark the world was back then. There’s this illusion of invincibility when you’re young that no amount of CNN or stories of adolescent death can take away.
Date rape happened to girls who left their drinks unattended when they went to the bathroom. The ones who got too smashed at parties or the ones who didn’t have a check-in system with their friends when they went on dates. Not us. We were far too smart.
I laugh out loud at my clueless, younger self, my hips still swaying, prying eyes still pinned on me through the bars of the cage. They can’t hear my laughter over the music, but if they could, I wonder if they’d think I’d gone insane.
When the song stops, I grip the pole with both hands and slide down, pausing until a new song comes on. A fast beat sounds through the speakers in the playroom, and I slide back up, my exposed breasts grazing the warm metal.
I’m in nothing but a thong that could double as floss, so when I flip myself around, my back pressing against the pole, I give the man standing with his hands flat against the stage a front row seat to my naked body.
I trail my hands up my hips, over my navel to my tits, then I lean my head back, lips parted as if I’m enjoying this. I think some of them, some as oblivious as Angel, believe the act. There are women on this island who want to be here. I’ve met them. I’ve listened to them. I’ve tried, and failed, to understand them. Regardless of whether I get it or not, they exist.
Even more surprising than that, there are men here who don’t possess dark desires that would make someone want to hide underneath a bed. They’re here because they like the kink. They like the women who like the kink. They have loads of money to pay for it, and they’re accustomed to doing whatever the fuck they want.
