Abduction (54 page)

No, Conrad was still making her. But this was…it felt totally different. The ropes at his wrists exonerated.

"Here, darling. Dip your fingers in this."

Conrad set a bowl of golden liquid on the floor beside Devan. Cooking oil.

Vaughn hadn't even noticed him drifting off to the kitchen and back. Blushing, she shot Vaughn an embarrassed glance, then reached down and gingerly dipped her fingertips into the oil. Little golden rivulets glistened down the lengths of her pretty fingers as she brought her hand to him. Not breathing, waiting for her touch. He felt her, not there yet, but a warm, soft kiss just inside his hip bone, her other hand curving at the back of his thigh. Then the slight, tentative touch of one fingertip slowly tracing a slippery line around the head of his cock, then trailing lightly down the shaft. The sight, the thought, her touching him—his cock, his whole body convulsed with excitement.

When she took him in her hand, her fingers encircled him so lightly, moved over the length of him so softly, it was like a tease, a promise of a caress he was still waiting to feel. He could sense her trembling slightly as slowly, tentatively she slid the slippery embrace of her hand down, down, then up, tenderly caressing the sensitive dome. It felt amazing, but he was tormented with anticipation. With want. Fuck, he was ready to beg her to grip him more tightly. But she went on with her caress that was a bare hint of the kind of touch that would make him come. That's what he wanted. To be touched—for Devan to touch him—to be overcome, to let go in that flood of release.

"Delicious girl." Conrad mused. "She hasn't the slightest notion how wicked she's being. Just being very careful, aren't you darling?"

She didn't look at Conrad. Blushing, uncertain, she looked at Vaughn.

"Don't worry, love. You won't break him."

She gave Vaughn a questioning look then, gazing up still, gauging him, tightened her grip slightly. A sudden, pleasant surge of feeling made him catch his breath, and his cock twitched in her hand. Looking unsure, she kept her grip firm and drew her hand slowly down the length of his desperate erection. Then up. So slow. He was panting.

Dying for more. Just a little more. It wouldn't take much. Endless, frustrating torment, the last few days, watching Conrad touch her, kiss her, listening to her contralto voice, soft and shy, telling those astonishing stories. Fuck. Please. Just a little harder. A little faster. He'd forgotten his fear, and almost forgotten the guilt. All that was left was want.

Need. He writhed, silent except for his panting, in sweet, painful torment as Devan's hand slid slowly up, the oily grip of her small fist rubbing and squeezing the head of his aching cock.

Conrad stepped forward and Vaughn went rigid, afraid for a second that Conrad was about to do something to him—or worse, to her. But Sade squatted down behind Devan and whispered something to her, then stood and returned to his place on the sideline. Her hand slipped from him, leaving his cock to throb, aching for her missing touch. With her two hands—one slightly shiny from the oil—she pulled the flimsy little bit of negligee covering her breasts down. The sight of her, her breasts bare, the elastic of the neckline pushing them faintly together and up, seemed to suddenly double Vaughn's need. Then he watched—almost forgetting Conrad's furtive whisper, that he'd instructed 491

her to do it—as Devan took hold of his cock once more and brought the domed head, glistening with oil, to the tip of her breast, and rubbed it back and forth against her nipple. Almost instantly her nipple stiffened as it took on a little of the sheen from him.

Fuck, his want was turning to agony. Just three or four firm, quick strokes and he was sure he'd…

"Do you want to let him come, Devan darling?"

She looked over at Conrad. Looked up at Vaughn.

"Yes."

Sweet, wonderful Dev. Her soft voice filled that one word with such feeling.

"All right, darling. Allow me to give you a little advice."

Conrad knelt down, right behind her, his thighs framing her hips, his lips pressed into her tresses by her ear.

The cold anxiety pooling in his gut spread through Vaughn as Devan's face paled, as she moved her head, in a paralytic gesture of 'no.' Then Conrad's despicable grin, another few words in her ear, and Devan's face went all pink and her eyes lit up with fresh tears.

Vaughn had twenty conflicting notions of what Conrad might have told her to do, but he could guess what those last few words of Conrad's had been. "If you don't do it, darling, I will."

She looked up at him. Terrified. Brave. Kind. Trying to reassure him with her frightened eyes. Then, her hand shaking, she dipped her fingers back into the oil and, her grip lax, she began stroking him again. Even with Conrad there, right behind her, 492

despite the anxiety of not knowing what the fucker had in mind, her tentative touch brought him right back to the edge. Caressing, stroking, hot, slick. Fuck. Fuck.

When she looked up at him he let her see what she was doing to him. God, she was so…that look of hers, unsure, hopeful, turned on. He was sure. But still afraid.

Trying not to let him see. Lost in her gaze he hadn’t seen, but now she was caressing his balls, gently cupping them, cradling them while her other hand went on stroking his stiff cock. Then her hand slipped from his balls, back, between his thighs, caressing his ass, her palms spreading and curving, feeling the contours of his flesh, then trailing lightly back again.

While he watched, while she kept stroking him, her other hand dipped down into the oil, her fingertips all shiny and dripping, and a moment after he felt a drop or two hitting his skin, slinking down between his ass cheeks. And he panicked. Her fingers felt nice, trailing so softly there, the oil on her fingertips mingling with the tiny rivulets, warm on his skin. But he panicked. He couldn't. Conrad couldn't make her…

Forcing himself, he stayed still. He stayed quiet. Struggle would be pointless.

Conrad would never relent to any plea. As her fingers slid, small and gentle and slick, between his cheeks, he let her hold his gaze. Still she was stroking him, making him pant with his urgent need to come. Now one finger slid more insistently against him, from the sensitive spot just behind his balls, back, over his asshole, up, and back again.

Then—fuck—the tip of her finger was rubbing back and forth, insistently teasing his anus. He could hardly help flexing and writhing despite desperate efforts to soften to her.

Especially when he let himself see how scared she looked. Fuck. He drew a deep, deep breath, let it go, and made his body lax. Almost. His cock, hard and lurching in her hand, was ready to explode.

The teasing, rubbing of her finger became a tentative pressure that seemed to test, to relent, to return, gentle but determined. Slowly, gradually, her finger opened him, entered him. The whole time she kept her eyes on him. Slowly her slippery finger slid deeper into him, and an involuntary shudder shook his body. Conrad whispered something to her, and Vaughn felt her finger glide slowly from him, and his whole pelvis seemed to be throbbing with need. Then her finger slid into him again, deeper than before. And out, and back again. Slowly fucking him.

Unbearable. Incredible. The weird feeling gripping him, rising from her two hands touching those parts of him. Not like anything before. Or like it, but more. More. He was shuddering, almost whimpering, and couldn't stop.

She pressed her lips to his belly, nuzzled against him, her touch warm and so sweet to him. A comfort, an anchor as he was being dragged out to some unknown sea.

Then that warmth was gone and he looked down to see Conrad murmuring in her ear. Then her warmth was with him again, her breath tickling the hairs drawing a line from his navel down, her hands fucking him. Gripping. Penetrating. Then for a moment he was empty, and a second later she was coming into him again. Larger. God. Oh god.

Coming in. He quivered and panted through it and she was inside him again, and he was stretched so tight he thought maybe he couldn't take it, but it wasn't pain, just strange, a fullness, and his cock still plunging into her slick fist again and again.

Then, fuck! God! He groaned out loud and convulsed as her touch sent a melting shockwave through him.

She'd gone still. All still. He looked.

Her eyes were filling with tears and she was looking at him like she was desperately seeking something. Conrad grinned up at him, combed his fingers through her hair and sighed, "Shhh, Devan. He's all right. You haven't hurt him." His mischievous hazel eyes flashed upward again. "Has she, Vaughn?" Laughter in the fucker's voice.

"No, Dev." Vaughn tried to slow his panting, to talk in a normal voice. "You didn't hurt me."

"Quite the opposite, isn't that right, Vaughn?"

"Yes."

"Do it again, darling."

She looked up at Vaughn, asking what to do.

"Yes," he sighed, terrified. Wanting.

She moved. First just the hand wrapped tight around his throbbing cock. Then inside him. Slow, rhythmic fucking. God. Oh god, fuck. Then that other touch. A percussion bomb of pleasure pounded his whole body. And again. Convulsing, dying, exploding in her hands. Frightening, so much, too much, his body shaken, melting, hanging, limp, still vibrating with feeling too good to bear. Broken. He felt broken.

Emptied. Drained.

Hanging, sweating, trembling, weak, almost crying, he opened his eyes. Devan's eyes. Waiting, afraid. All right, Dev. All right. He couldn't talk. Wanted to tell her. All right.

She was standing. Conrad was gone. She was looking at him so…such tender concern. Afraid she'd hurt him, even though he'd…god, her breasts were covered, dripping with his come. Cream on cream. Pretty. Delicate. The pallor of her smooth skin, the translucent unwhite sheen lacing her wonderful contours.

His hands came free. Conrad. Strangely dizzy he nearly collapsed but something caught him. Conrad. Set him down. Then Devan, kneeling. Eyes still full of fear. Fingers soft, combing through his hair.

Want. He wanted to feel her against him, her arms around him, her warmth and his mingling. Maybe Conrad wouldn't let them. He reached out, startled at how weak his arm was, hard to even lift. He touched her neck, coaxed her to him. Held her. So good he wanted to cry. Devan. Dev.

Conrad allowed it. For a moment. Devan held Vaughn, limp and trembling in her arms. What had she done? The way poor Vaughn had stiffened, the look on his face, she knew, never before. He'd never done, never wanted that. But she'd done it. She'd brought Conrad down on Vaughn's place of refuge, and done that to him. She'd written it, so he'd made her.

"I'm sorry," she meant to whisper, but she sobbed it.

"That's enough." Conrad gripped her arm, wrenched her from Vaughn, pulled her up. As Conrad dragged her off she broke down, too guilty to get a grip on the tears she meant to hide.

TWELVE: Metamorphosis

Vaughn strained for the millionth time over the last few days against the tape wound over the flannel sleeve of his shirt, holding him tight to the arm of the chair.

Damn fucking Conrad. Every time Vaughn thought he was past terror, past worry, Conrad said, did something to start him panicking and struggling.

"What's that for?" Fear seemed to have sucked away his breath. His voice was so soft.

"For Devan. I'll need to tie her."

Conrad cinched a second restraint onto the headboard.

"Conrad." Vaughn was making his voice soft on purpose now. "Please. Don't tie her." He was near crying, trying to sound calm. "You don't need to. She'll be still if you tell her to. You know she will."

Conrad grinned and came close, squatting down and looking up at Vaughn.

"Yes. And you know that keeping her still is barely half the point."

"She's already afraid. Fuck, she's always afraid. Even when she's pretending not to be."

"No," Conrad smiled brightly, reminiscing. "Not as she was, in the beginning."

It was useless. It was always useless. Conrad never gave in. But begging was all Vaughn could do for her. So he begged.

"Please. Please, Conrad."

"Hmmm," Conrad almost laughed, "you're in a persistent mood, aren't you?" He glanced over his shoulder at the restraints dangling from the bedposts, then turned his eyes back to Vaughn. "Perhaps I'll reconsider, Vaughn. On one condition."

Conrad was well pleased with himself, now. And even felt a touch of affectionate gratitude for Vaughn, who'd inspired him to this stroke of genius. He fetched Devan, nervous clean and soft, and brought her into the little bedroom. Right away she caught sight of Vaughn, and the next moment took in the strange part. He wasn't bound. Just standing, leaning against the wall by the door she'd just come through.

Though he kept his face serene and his voice steady, Conrad sensed how nervous Vaughn was as he looked at Devan and said to her in a quiet voice, "Take off your panties."

Conrad watched. Carefully. There it was. The sudden swell of her chest as fresh fear made her pant. She stared up at Vaughn, trying to read him, then did as he'd told her.

"Get on the bed, Devan," Vaughn said softly.

Conrad could see that she was shaking. Still panting. She moved hesitantly toward the bed, cast a questioning look at Conrad, then sat on the edge of the mattress.

And now for the real fun. Conrad looked at Vaughn, who seemed to be hesitating. Reconsidering. But then he went ahead and started to undress, stripping the t-shirt and trousers and boxer briefs from his chiseled bulk as Devan, pale and panting, watched. She was still, quiet, just watching and waiting and Vaughn came to the bed, naked and—Conrad had to smile—already hard, even after he'd been allowed such 499

total release the night before, sat down beside her, then slid back, to the center of the mattress, and leaned back against the headboard. Devan stiffened just a little, panted just a little harder when Vaughn touched her shoulder, then gently coaxed her to slide back, into his arms, sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest.