Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

padlock in his teeth and tugging, reminding her she was his prisoner. “Squeeze down on me.”

She did, and earned a rasp of his breath against her neck, a reward that warmed her like the teacher giving her an A in front of the whole class. That squeezing motion made sensation ripple through her cunt and lower belly. She did it harder.

“Fuck. Keep doing that.” He was close enough to her she could hear the rumble of his voice against her neck, through her back where his chest pressed against her. She’d been right. He still wore his dress shirt, though the tie was gone. She’d felt his open slacks against her ass and thighs when he was fucking her before, and now she felt them again. Somehow it just underscored her subjugation, him remaining in his work clothes. She imagined how it would feel to have him completely naked against her, hard muscle and curling male chest hair rough against her skin.

“Lift your tits off the couch.”

His hands reached beneath her. No unkind pinches and tugs this time. Something far more devastating. He started brushing his palms over just the tips in a way that had her making little moans, increasing the rate of those constrictions in her ass. She could feel him swelling larger. They probably made Viagra out of whatever special hormone Ben carried in his DNA.

“That’s it. Good girl. Keep working it.” He laid another kiss on her nape, brought his other hand down beneath her to tease her clit with one finger, more light brushes. In a matter of minutes, she wanted to spread her legs with everything she had, open herself wide to him, but of course the rope wrap prevented her. What the hell was he doing to her?

“My sweet, sweet slut,” he murmured. “You’re so hot for it. I’m going to keep working you like this all night. We won’t be stopping until my cock’s had enough.” His voice dropped to a whisper, right against her ear. “And baby, my cock never has enough of a sweet ass like yours.”

Despite that thrilling threat, he surprised her. She expected him to take her to another completion, at least for him, but instead, after a few moments, he lifted her again. She was carried down a hallway, and then she was in another room, though she couldn’t tell what function it served. Until he laid her down on what felt like a padded massage table.

“Lie still. No speaking unless I give you permission.”

Unwrapping her legs and arms, he removed the phallic gag. Then he began to rub her limbs, back, shoulders and hips with firm, capable hands that knew exactly what they were doing. She had to bite back a moan as he worked over the sore muscles and strained joints.

“Your color’s good. Wiggle your toes for me. Now your fingers. Any numbness anywhere? Yes or no.”

“No.”

She wasn’t lying, not exactly, because she knew what kind of numbness he meant. He didn’t mean the fact her lips could barely move because her body was trapped in a logy place where everything moved through molasses, even her thoughts. She felt like she was in a permanent world of hushed darkness.

When he was done with that, he turned her over, did the front. He cupped her breasts, passed his thumbs over her nipples, an idle caress as he checked her over. She knew he was looking for any discolorations or dangerous levels of tenderness. She’d learned that from watching Marcus do sessions with Thomas at their favorite New York club, and later she’d seen Ben do the same with the three women at Surreal. Only Ben was like a torturer who knew the limits of the human body exactly, straddling that border of pleasure and terror. A zone far wider for her than she’d realized, until she was under his command.

He slid his arms underneath her. “C’mon, brat.” Was there tenderness in that murmur?

As he took a seat in what felt like a nearby recliner, he cradled her against his body. She turned her face into his neck. She wanted the mask off, wanted to feel him against her face. He must have known, because he removed the lock and unlaced it, pulled it off. She kept her eyes closed, fearing any brightness. He used what smelled like aloe wipes to clean her face, the mucus from her running nose, her tears, the sweat. He combed her hair with his fingers.

She’d bitten her lip, and he smeared something that smelled like coconut lip balm there. He leaned away from her and she heard the sound of a mini-fridge. Then he was plying her with sips of water. Fed her peanut butter crackers as he had at the office, gave her some juice. With a near giggle, she wondered if he kept supplies in every room of the house, like a Red Cross station after a bloodletting.

“Master…” She wanted to say it, wanted to call him that. He kept stroking her head, but said nothing. “Ben…”

“I’m here, baby. Just relax and get your strength back. We’re not done. Not by a long shot.”

“I haven’t…made out a will. Tell Cass that Jess can have my clothes. But she gets…my birthday stilettos.”

His lips pulled into a curve against her temple. “I’d like to see you in those stilettos, and nothing else. I’d cross your ankles, tie them together, run the rope under the soles of the shoes so it keeps them on, part of the binding.”

“I’ll wear them…in my casket.”

He kissed her neck then, bit, earning a quiet sigh from her, a shudder as he clasped her breasts, gently massaged, pinched, toyed with the piercings. “Quiet now. Just feel. You’re a slave. You don’t speak unless your Master requires you to speak. You serve. Let everything else go.”

She wanted to obey him, but her mind was in such an odd place. “I’m so, so sorry. About Jeremy. About the things… I was so lonely in college.” She was sorry