The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2) (21 page)

“Thank you, Baby Jesus!” I raise my hands to the heavens in gratitude. “Okay, starting now, I’m in charge.”

“Just be kind, baby. That’s all I ask.”

“I know of no other way.”

Chapter 19

Jonas

“Too tight?” she asks.

I pull on the restraints. “No.”

I can’t believe I’m letting her do this to me. If she only knew about the last time I was restrained like this, albeit under completely different circumstances, she’d never ask this of me. Fuck. She’s the only person I’d ever let do this to me. Fuck. I never should have said yes.

“Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Let me rephrase. Do you need an adjustment to your physical environment in any way?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible submissive, you know that?”

I sigh. “I should hope so.”

She pulls out yet another necktie and places it over my eyes.

“No, baby. Please. Seeing you is what turns me on. Your skin. Your eyes. Your hair. Please.”

“Shh,” she says. “No more talking.”

The song on her laptop ends and the sound of rain pelting the windowpane bleeds into the room.

She secures the blindfold. I can’t see a fucking thing. I bite my lip. My heart pounds in my chest. My stomach twists. I feel sick. And yet my dick is rock hard. Go figure.

“Yellow,” I whisper.

“I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

“Just... the whole thing. Sarah, listen.”

There’s silence.

“I’m listening,” she says softly.

I pause. The rain has gathered strength outside the window. “Never mind.”

I can’t tell her about The Lunacy. Not now, not like this. She knows I’m fucked up, yes, but she doesn’t know I’m
that
fucked up. She wouldn’t want me if she knew.

“Did Josh leave?” she asks.

“Please don’t mention my brother at a time like this—you’re gonna make me puke.”

“I need to get something from the kitchen and I’m naked, you big dummy.”

“Oh my, aren’t you the sassy little dominatrix now? Yeah. He went to the airport.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She’s gone. I’m alone with the sound of the rain. Why did I let her to do this to me? I’m fucking blindfolded and spread-eagle with a raging hard-on, trussed up like a calf at a rodeo. There is no other woman I’d do this for in the entire galaxy.

She returns. She places something on the nightstand. Sounds like a cup. Or cups. Something rattling around? Ice cubes in a glass.

Music begins playing. The song is “Magic” by Coldplay. Good song. Surely, she’s chosen it to send a lyrical message to me.

“Yellow,” I whisper, sending a lyrical message right back to her. I’ll see her one Coldplay song and raise her another—my favorite one, in fact—the one in which Chris Martin of Coldplay offers up his very lifeblood to the woman he loves. I’d give my blood to Sarah, too, all of it, every last drop—or, as it turns out, let her tie me up. For me, they’re one and the same thing.

“Don’t use one of the safe words unless you’re serious. No crying wolf.” There’s a beat. “Wait, are you serious?”

“No, I was just commenting on your choice of Coldplay songs—remarking on the one I’d play for you if I were in charge.” Oh, how I wish I were untied right now and making love to her to “Yellow.” That song would tell her I love her in the way my own mouth can’t—and my body would emphatically prove it.

“Jonas.” She’s annoyed with me. “No talking. And no Boy Who Cried Wolf with the safe words. As your dominatrix, I have to honor the safe words unflinchingly—I take my vows very seriously.”

“Your vows?”

“My dominatrix vows.”

I can’t help but laugh, even in this situation. Sarah can always make me laugh.

“Okay, Mistress, proceed,” I say. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your brilliant strategy.”

“Based on your gigantic hard-on, it doesn’t appear you mind my brilliant strategy all that much.”

“My dick has a mind of its own. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

She kisses me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Will you just take off the blindfold, please? It’s making me claustrophobic.”

She sighs. “The blog I read says what I’m about to do is most effective when you’re blindfolded—it enhances the sensation.”

Her voice is so earnest. I can’t resist her. “Fine. Do what you will, Mistress. You own me.”

She kisses my lips and giggles.

I instinctively reach for her and the restraints tighten around my wrists. My chest constricts. Talk about sense memory. Déjà fucking vu. My mind hurtles back to that night when they first had me tied up like fucking King Kong. A virtual army of orderlies, or whoever the fuck they were, bum rushed me when I started flipping out. They pumped me with so many drugs after that, I don’t remember every detail clearly—but I sure as hell remember the restraints around my wrists and ankles—the ones that felt exactly like these—and how I begged and pleaded with them to untie me so I could put an end to my lifelong misery once and for all. For weeks, my wrists bore deep bruises from how violently I’d thrashed against my restraints during that first horrible night of The Lunacy.

The lyrics to “Yellow” float through my mind. Just like the song says, I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body.

Her soft lips are on my neck, my nipples, trailing down to my stomach.

I reach for her and the restraints pull on me again. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself, but the ties around my wrists keep pulling me back to the dark movie playing inside my head—to the night my mind finally, painfully succumbed to a decade’s worth of torment.

An ice cube on my nipple jerks me back to the present. She swirls it around and across my chest and then down to my abs, her warm wet tongue trailing immediately behind the icy wetness like some kind of erotic Zamboni. Soft skin brushes against my erection—her nipple?—as her lips meander their way down my torso. I shudder.

I want to touch her. I need to touch her. I reach out to her yet again and the restraints tug forcefully on my wrists. My stomach twists.

Even as I climbed the stairs after hearing the gunshot coming from his room, I knew whatever awaited me would push my mind over the edge and into the dark abyss. And yet I continued climbing those fucking stairs, one brutal step at a time, slowly, involuntarily, inevitably, to my doom—his room a monstrous magnet and my body a passive slab of steel.

I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body.

“Yellow,” I whisper.

“What part? The ice?”

“No. The blindfold. Take it off. Please.” My words choke in my throat. I’m dangerously close to thrashing around, but I breathe deeply and control myself.

Her hands touch my face. She removes the blindfold. Her face is awash in disappointment. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just wanted to try something.”

I’m being a total pussy-ass right now. She looks so sad. I sigh. “It’s okay, baby. Put it back on. Do your thing. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. No blindfold. Just keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Swear?”

“Yep.”

She throws the blindfold onto the floor and I close my eyes.

I feel her rolling to the side of the bed. The song stops.

A new song comes on. Holy fucking Christ, no, no, no—it’s fucking One Direction, “What Makes You Beautiful.” Just shoot me now and send me to hell with my father where I fucking belong.

My eyes spring open. “No,” I shout. “A fate worse than death.”

She glares at me. “Close your eyes. You swore.”

I comply.

Her lips are in my ear. “This song is intended to punish you for your despicable actions earlier this evening.” Her tone is low and even. “You were a very, very bad boy. You lied to me through omission. You didn’t trust me. And that opened the door for me to mistrust you—not a good foundation for a healthy relationship, Jonas. And now I’m going to suck your cock to the dulcet sounds of One Direction to teach you a lesson. And as further punishment, from this day forward, whenever you hear this song in a passing car or in a grocery store, you’ll instantly get rock hard, remembering what I did to you tonight.”

Well, that shuts me the fuck up—along with the voices inside my head, too. All of us—me, myself, and I—instantly give this woman our undivided attention.

She chuckles, clearly amused by herself, and moves away from my ear.

The abominable song blares at me, making my head hurt and my ears bleed. It’s a travesty is what it is—a fucking crime against humanity. But then her tongue licks my cock like it’s a melting ice cream cone and I don’t give a fuck what song is playing. When she takes me into her mouth, it’s really, really warm in there—and extra wet—holy fuck, she’s got warm liquid in her mouth that she’s swirling around my cock, like she’s treating it to its own personal Jacuzzi.

I let out a low moan. I wish I could look at her right now, but a promise is a promise.

Her mouth leaves me.

I instinctively reach my hand toward her, willing her to return to me, needing to touch her, and the restraint stops me. Motherfucker.

I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body, if she wanted me to.

When I first beheld the horror he so meticulously staged for me, I gripped my sanity with all my white-knuckled might, determined not to let go of it—determined not to let him win. If only I’d turned around right then and marched out the door, if only I’d turned my back on him and his malice and his hatred and his decade’s worth of blame, if only I’d refused to let him have the last word just that one time, maybe I would have been able to hang onto my mind against all odds, even amid that final, horrific opera he’d performed just for me.

But, no, I didn’t turn my back on him and I didn’t leave the room and I therefore didn’t save myself. Instead, I did the worst thing I could have done. I saw the envelope on his desk, his blood splattered across the neat lettering of my name, and I opened it. Even as I did it, I knew opening that envelope would be my last sane act, I fucking knew it—I knew my mind wouldn’t be able to withstand his final parting shot to me any more than his brain had withstood the final parting shot from his shotgun—but I opened it anyway.

She takes my cock into her mouth again, but this time her mouth is icy cold wetness. The intense sensation jerks me out of the horror show in my head and puts me back in the room with Sarah. Surprisingly, the change in temperature feels exhilarating—acutely pleasurable.
My Magnificent Sarah.

The sound that comes out of me is primal.

“You like that?” she asks. Her voice is gravelly and thick with arousal.

“Yes,” I say.

For a few blissful moments, her oh so talented mouth makes me forget all about my restraints. Just as I’m about to lose control and release into her mouth, her mouth leaves my cock, her hand grips my shaft, and her naked body writhes against mine.

“I don’t want you to come,” she says, panting, her lips touching my ear. “Your job is to stay hard for me. You understand?”

“Yes,” I choke out.

“If you’re in danger of coming, you’re required to tell me so. You can say ‘I’m gonna come’ all you like, but if you really are gonna cross the line, you’ll say ‘limit’ so I know.”

I nod.

I hear the sound of movement at the nightstand.

I shiver with anticipation.

Her face is next to mine again. I smell the unmistakable scent of Altoids mints. Her tongue laps at my lips for one tantalizing second. “I’m going to make your cock feel minty fresh,” she says. Her voice is husky.

She takes me into her mouth again. And damn, yes, minty fresh is right.

I’d give anything to see her brown eyes looking up at me from down there, but, fuck me, I promised to keep my eyes closed. I try to imagine what she must look like right now—try to imagine her big brown eyes blazing up at me—but the thought is such a turn on, I have to stop thinking about it or else I’ll come like a motherfucker into her mouth. She sucks on my tip gently with just the right amount of pressure and I jerk violently.

“Limit.” Holy fuck. “Limit.”

Her mouth leaves my cock and finds my belly button. Her lips are warm.

She’s moaning, shuddering. This is turning her on as much as me. She crawls on top of me and places my tip at her wet entrance. I jerk my pelvis up, trying to enter her, but she tilts away. I’m a caged lion swatting at a hunk of raw meat that’s being pulled on a string just out of my reach. And all the while, that fucking One Direction song tortures me.

I want to reach out and touch her hair. I want to touch her sweet wet pussy and make her come. I want to hold her, cradle her, lick her, fuck her without mercy. I want to make her scream my name.

One Direction, thankfully, stops.

“You can open your eyes now.” Her voice is dripping with her arousal.

I open my eyes. Oh God, I could come at the mere sight of her if I let myself. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are wild. A sheen of perspiration covers her face. She’s in ecstasy and I haven’t even touched her. She’s beautiful.

“Limit,” I whisper, looking into her eyes.

She moves to put on another song. “Do I Wanna Know?” by the Arctic Monkeys. Yet another reason to love this woman.

She straddles my lap, teasing me yet again, writhing, and bends over to kiss my mouth.

“You’re going to lick me now,” she says.

“Untie me.”

“No.”

“Untie me.”

“Just give it a chance. Trust me.” She flashes her most seductive smile.

“I’m not going to lick your pussy with these restraints on. You’re my religion and licking your pussy is going to church.”

She doesn’t understand. “Trust me, Jonas.”

“Red.”

She opens her mouth, shocked.

“Red,” I say again.

Her shoulders slump.

“You want me to inhabit heaven and hell at the same time. It’s not possible. I choose heaven.”

Her face droops.

She silently unties my wrists, defeated.

I rub my wrists and sit up to untie my ankles.