Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (69 page)

“You are very thoughtful,” Grant murmurs against my temple, and then places a kiss where his breath warmed. “Take a nap. I’ll think of something.”

~Chapter Fifty-Seven
~

Girl porn- it’s the only way to describe what I’m looking at.

Girl Porn.

I’m ashamed to admit that my girly parts are tingling something fierce. The masculine grunt every time a hit lands has my body clenching in unco
mfortable, yet strangely erotic ways. Two exquisite male forms, slicked with musky-scented sweat that glistens in the light and outlines the deep grooves of perfectly striated muscles, skirmish before me... and I can’t peel my eyes off of them.

I sit crossed-legged on the cork floor, gape-mouthed and in awe. I could watch for an eternity and never get bored. The jab of Wil’s loosely clenched fist into the deep muscle at Gunner’
s side curls a sadistic twist in my lips. It doesn’t matter which one gains a point, I smile like a lunatic as my heart beats into overdrive and my breath saws from my mouth and moisture pools between my twitching thighs. I’m aroused. I’m excited. I’m enthralled.

Until this moment
, I’ve never thought of Gunner as sexual. Grant kept warning me that I’d eventually see him as something other than a brother, but I didn’t listen. But watching Wil and Gunner beat the shit out of each other, hit after hit, my mind slides from brotherly affections into a lust so strong that my blood boils in my veins. I don’t know if what I feel for Wil is love or lust or a lie, but I’ve always known that I wanted him.

T
here is something primal about two strong alpha males going head-to-head before me. The part of me that is ancient, ruled by instinct, sees this as a challenge- it doesn’t matter if I love the winner, they need to earn me. They must prove they can protect and feed and shelter me, because if they can’t provide for a strong woman, how can they protect our innocent offspring. The female already proved their worth by carrying and birthing their child. It’s ingrained in their DNA to protect their offspring to the death. This isn’t so for the male, and they need to prove their capabilities to the woman.

This is what
all women need to see. There would be no more bastardized, forgotten children if the man had to earn the right to mate. Women give themselves away too easily- a kind word, a gift or bauble, a stroke to an injured ego- all smoke and mirrors. The male needs to be stripped raw with their soul bared to their potential mate- no lies.

I see it now. Every species fights for the right to mate except for the modern human. We’ve lost touch with our
true nature- in essence, we are animals. The weak create generation after generation of weak. We ignore our senses, our instincts and intuition- we allow money and stature to influence our relationships. We see power in green. It doesn’t have to be a challenge of the physical. Protection isn’t necessarily the ability to render a man in two with your bare hands. Both the mind and will are equally important.

Large populations of men sit on their lazy asses as they
mentally and physically abuse their women to gain a feeling of power, and they still get the right to mate when they should be refused. If we listened to our bodies- our instincts- there wouldn’t be another generation of lazy, abusive men, because they wouldn’t ever procreate.

This- these two battling men, filled with calculating intelligence and the mental and physical
potency of gale-force winds, is real power. It’s a primal power that has nothing to do with money or educational degrees or the amount of weight they can bench-press. It has nothing to do with who they know or the lineage they branch from. The inner-light that fills their eyes, the way every maneuver is made with premeditation, proves their worthiness to mate.

The fight is sexual and animalistic. Wil and Gunner didn’t start this skirmish as a right to mate, but instinctually you can see it in the flex of their muscles and the placement of their bare feet. Humans use sports and professions and small everyday occurrences as a ritualistic mating dance. We don’t even realize we are doing it- it is engrained in us because we are animals.

The fight started out light, with a demeanor that was more friendship than challenge. This is the first time the boys have fought one another. Every day we’ve trained together- the three of us. I’ve fought them both and lost miserably every time. But the act of fighting each other has changed our dynamic.

About a half hour into the
ir evenly matched session, they boys took note of my condition. There is nothing I can do to hide my aroused and enthralled reaction. My eyes are bright and shiny. My body’s reaction is impossible to shield. My nipples bud so tightly that the beads of my breasts are protruding from my tank top- so sensitive that every breath I draw rubs the fabric of my shirt over my engorged nipples and moves the rings that impale them. My nylon track shorts do not offer the absorbency to contain the amount of moisture that is welling from between my thighs. The fabric dampened with my juices is unable to hold back the flow, my thighs glisten in the light. The flare of masculine nostrils and the thrill of seeing them taste my scent in the air on the backs of their tongues, tells me they can scent me as strongly as I can scent them.

The training session turned primordial, brutal, as if they had a real reason to fight. It’s no longer who gets to boast about winning-
there is a real prize to be won. Deep down, I know that when this fight is over, the winner is taking me down to the mats and claiming their prize.

The small part of me that is more animal than
human eclipses the larger part of me, or maybe blooms is a better word. Watching the challenge has flipped a switch in my being and the real part of me that I’ve always pushed down finally takes over and controls me. Two battles rage, one on the padded mats in the basement training room of Stanton’s building and the battle of my will inside my being. Watching Wil and Gunner, I let go of the scared little girl everyone reduces me to and embrace the animal within. The non-emotional practicality of my instincts allows me to take the first real breath I’ve inhaled since I left West Virginia.

“Yield,” Gunner
sinisterly growls, landing a fierce punch to Wil’s perfect abdomen. They dance, for there is no better way to describe the practiced placement of their feet. Light, without sound, their feet shift and sidestep, simultaneously moving them away and towards their target. Every movement is calculated.

“No,” Wil answers Gunner with a solid punch to the left shoulder that has them both wincing in pain. “We both know what the winner gets. I’m not giving her away so easily this time.”

“You already had a chance with her- it’s my turn, dammit!” Gunner’s foot connects with the bulk of his opponent’s thigh. Wil’s grunt is loud, echoing around the training room, but he doesn’t relent. Sweat and blood drip in fat plops onto the mat at their feet. The part of me that is human wants them to stop because she knows that they won’t rest until one of them is gravely injured. The animal in me appreciates that they are willing to go that far to prove to me that I’m worth fighting for.

“Pixy should get a choice,” Wil hisses
, ducking beneath an incoming jab.

“I don’t think she gives a shit,” Gunner chuckles. “Ask her, but I doubt she can talk. This will go on until one of
us passes out. By then she will have done herself by hand. Just let me win,” Gunner practically begs.

“If I give up, you didn’t really win, now did you?” Wil arrogantly says. They part, one on each side of the blue mat
- an unspoken signal I did not see. They are no longer fighting. They negotiate over me like I’m something immaterial, not made of skin and bone and mind. I want to object, but the instinctive part of me accepts that this is another form of power- the mental ability to take on an opponent and manipulate your advantage- it’s how my daddy thrived as a man.

“I leave
tomorrow night,” Gunner gives a strong point. My mouth almost parts to tell them that Gunner won, but I don’t. I want Wil to continue to fight for me. I’m not giving my body to anyone who doesn’t earn it- never again.

“So what?” Wil shrugs, clearly annoyed and filled with jealousy. His
glacial stare is white hot as it flicks over my sweat-beaded skin.

“Syn sees me as a brother-”

“Yeah, not buying that bullshit,” Wil growls. “You’re looking at her like she’s food.”

“It was the fight- trust me, buddy, she’s never looked at me like this before. I won’t lie. I want her- I always have. But we really do see each other as siblings. We always will. This will be a one
time thing. I promise never to touch her after this- she won’t want to anyway. Syn doesn’t want me like that.”

“I don’t believe you,” Wil hisses, but his eyes are all for me. I hold his gaze as my mind furiously spins. A part of me is incensed, but
the larger part of me is ruled by my body’s craving for sex. I don’t call my body a slut this time. I just accept it as a hunger you feed- like sleep, air, food, and water. Sex is another biological need that has to be fulfilled or you will slowly wither and die on the inside.

“I’ll never fight you again. She’s watched me fight most of my brother’s men and she’s never r
eacted like this- it’s you, Wil. You’re the one that’s doing this to her.” Gunner gestures to my body and I flush crimson. “I won’t be here anyway. I’m leaving and going straight into a tour as soon as boot camp is over.”

“That
was your choice,” Wil gruffly says, but he visibly relaxes- shoulders slowly lowering from his attack stance. My eyes slide down his sweat-slicked torso, following the lines and grooves of his muscles. The trail of brown curls has my eyes seeking lower destinations. Wil’s shorts are stretched tight over his arousal, so tight that I can see the mushroom-shaped outline of his cockhead and the moisture that is dampening his shorts. The fight turned him on- the thrill, the adrenaline. It’s why the three of us get along. It’s not always sexual- it’s our hunger for reckless abandon.

I’ve never been as wild as I have been this past week. Since it was Gunner’s last week home, I did
n’t work. I still went to class. But every waking moment surrounding class, Wil, Gunner, and I were in a constant state of danger. It was like being back in West Virginia as a kid- rock climbing and doing tricks with my gang. I felt free- we all felt free of the game. If we injured ourselves it was by our choice.

Gunner is the biggest adrenaline junkie on the planet. Last night he had me walking on the half-wall that protects us on the roof.
The ledge was no wider than my foot- it was like walking a tightrope five and a half stories off the ground. I’ve never felt as alive as I did with my impending death looming sixty feet below.

Stanton found me
on the ledge and nearly had a heart attack. I didn’t tell him that I’d done far worse all week- like traversing a twenty story building after Gunner gave me a point-by-point guide on how to use Parkour to get from the ground to the roof without the use of stairs or an elevator. I did it, but I nearly died five times. If Gunner could, we’d bungee jump every day. It’s been a thrill, and we’ve all been in an adrenaline based state of arousal that increases with the intensity of the danger we put ourselves under.

Wil shift
s his weight, flexing his hardness, because he knows I’m watching. Wil knows I want him, so he uses his flesh to lure me. I know how good he feels- the velvet slide of him, piercing my wetness and filling me to the hilt. I whimper and rise up on my knees. My pussy violently contracts over the shared memory of our union. I feel lust-crazed.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Gunner snaps at me. I fal
l back until I’m sitting on the balls of my feet, legs spread wide in silent invitation. I follow the line of their gazes to the dampness flooding my inner-thighs. The three of us shudder as a unit.

“I’m a virgin that has no way to date. I’ve never even kissed a girl. Tomorrow I’m officially a man- I’m going into the military to serve our country. I could pay for it when I’m on leave or I could visit the bunk of one of my mates. But I don’t want my first time with a prostitute- how sad is that. You guys had each other and it meant something.”

“It should mean something,” I whimper, finally finding my voice.

“I don’t have the ability to find a girlfriend
, and I wouldn’t want to meet a nice girl and hurt her when I leave. Anything could happen to me, every single day. It hurts knowing I’m leaving my family behind- I cannot afford to love a girl. I’m a man and my body has been violently screaming at me since I met you, Syn. We see each other as family, so it would mean something. I’d rather give myself to you than pay some woman to lie there while I rut on her. I could take one of the guys. They’d let me because I’m their superior, but it would be wrong. I don’t like guys that way, anyway. But I’ve seen the majority of my men, every single one of them are straight as an arrow, slip into the bunks together because the urge is too strong. I’ve laid in bed and listened as they got off. But one day I will lead them, and you don’t screw what you command.”

“Why me?”
I ask because it’s important to me, and his answer will either stop this or continue it. I fear that Gunner sees me as a free whore. The whore you don’t pay, the whore that doesn’t lie still while you rut on her. I’m the whore you care about, that you lust after, and have no issue using and then walking away.