Jennifer Probst - Dare Me

He’d figured she’d call it quits the moment he fought her. He hadn’t expected her to twist his balls, or the crazy pain/pleasure that stiffened his dick at her complete demand of submission. His mind emptied of all other thoughts than getting to touch her, thrust inside of her, see her completely naked. He figured he’d take anything she gave if she’d allow him just a taste.

“Hmm, very nice.” She grasped his cock and slid down from tip to the base. He shuddered and pulled on the cuffs, but the movement cramped and burned his shoulders and neck. He raised almost on tiptoe and stretched his body. Her touch skittered over his skin and twisted the discomfort into excitement. “I want to know more about you,” she purred like Catwoman. “We’re going to play one of my favorite games. I’ll ask you something and you answer as honestly as possible. If you give me the truth, I’ll give you a present. Lie to me, and you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Summer.”

“Very good.” She continued touching him with light strokes—his hip, his stomach, his nipple. Each teasing flutter fisted his gut with anticipation, until he worried he’d spurt all over her like a freaking horn dog teenager. He used all of his military training to lock down his brain and control his body. No way in hell he’d explode before he pushed inside of her. She picked the wrong man to play that game with.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she lifted one of her hands and he held his breath as her pink tongue licked her palm. She grasped his erection. And squeezed. He bucked at the damp heat.

“Stop thinking,” she commanded. “You’ll do what I ask, not what you think you have to. How long were you in the military?”

“Eight years. Joined at eighteen.”

She rubbed both hands up and down his cock, her thumb massaging the tip, keeping him distracted. “Where were you stationed?”

“Iraq.”

“Tell me about it.”

He blinked, reaching for some answer to her strange question, but she continued stroking. “Uh, what do you want to know?”

“Describe how it felt.”

He groaned when she scratched his sensitive balls with her fingernails. “Hot. Dusty. Had sand in my ass from the first day, and the grit doesn’t wash off your skin no matter how much you bathe. You learn not to trust anyone but your team since any resident can turn on you in a heartbeat. Children included.”

She released him and disappeared behind him. He tensed. Her breath ran hot over his back and one sharp nail traced the line of his spine to stop at the base before tracing the line of his ass cheeks. He closed his eyes and pulled at the chains, wanting out of there, yet he had nowhere to go.

“Tell me your worst memory in Iraq.”

Her finger teased the tight hole between his cheeks. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, his heartbeat under control and played his usual game that kept him grounded. Start with one thousand and count backward, slow and steady. No way in hell he’d share secrets with a one-night stand. No way in hell she’d make him.

“Nothing stands out. One crappy day was the same as the rest.”

A sharp slap rang through the air. His left ass cheek tightened and heat burned his skin, but before he recovered, she bit down and the other cheek stung like a son of a bitch. Her hand slid around and grasped his cock, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm and the dual shock of pain melded to pleasure. Her tongue soothed the sting on his ass. With his head swimming, he tried to keep his brain sharp in order to dodge her questions, but his body didn’t give a shit. He cursed viciously.

“Don’t lie to me, it’ll piss me off. Let’s backtrack. Were you in charge of anyone?”

“Yes, five men.”

“Were they close friends?”

“Yes.”

“Did everyone get out alive?”

The repetitive questions came fast. His mind throbbed in time with the demands of his body to come. “No.”

He descended into his own personal hell, fighting with lust and need and crappy memories he didn’t want to emerge. Then she appeared in front of him. She’d loosened her corset and bared her breasts. Two ruby red nipples poked out and begged for his mouth.

“Who died?”

He gritted his teeth. She reached out and slapped his cock. A few drops of cum moistened the tip and he groaned. “Ben.”

“How did he die?”

“Fuck you.”

The last ditch effort at sanity broke from his lips. She smiled and knelt before him. Her hands rubbed her nipples and he stared helplessly at the luscious fruit a few inches away, yet unable to touch. The final threads of control frayed.

“I’m going to take your cock into my mouth and suck. You are not allowed to come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

She opened her lips and slid her tongue up and over him. His heart stopped, sputtered, and pounded so hard the sound roared in his ears. She rolled the tip of her tongue round and round, licking with delicate motions. He jerked in the heavenly wet heat and yanked at his restraints. His knees shook. The numbers swam foggily in his vision but he fought for composure and tried to count again.

She pulled her mouth away with a slight popping noise. “How did Ben die?”

“Ambushed. We took cover but he got hit and his leg was blown off.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

The witch actually smiled. She bathed her index finger with her tongue. Her hot breath blew on his throbbing cock, and she trailed the same finger slowly between his cheeks, teasing the opening of his anus. Horror and a raging arousal licked him like fire. “Liar,” she said softly. One finger thrust into his ass.

“Fuck!” The delicious pressure shoved him toward the edge of orgasm. She worked the finger like a magician until his body practically wept for more.

“What happened when Ben got hit?”

“I asked Tim to cover me and I went to get him. Dragged him out of the scene.” He panted. With her other hand, she lifted his erection, swirling her fingers under the sensitive base, around his balls, spreading the moisture of her mouth.

“Did you get shot?” she asked.

“No. Everyone said it was a miracle.”

Pain and desire melded until one became indistinct from the other. The agony of the memory pierced him clear and sharp, when before it had always been a dull throbbing that never seemed to go away. She battered him with questions, and still she worked him, never easing the pressure of her finger in his ass, or her tongue and lips on his cock.

“Did you save him?”

“That day I did. He died at the hospital later. The whole thing was a waste. Just another day of waste.”

“Was that your worst memory?”

Her gaze delved deep and grabbed him by the throat. An endless depth of blue churned with emotion and demanded his truth. The walls he’d built trembled and broke in a pile of rubble around him. His body screamed and shook for release, for her permission to come. He dug in and gave it to her. “No, my worst memory was the day I got that fucking medal. The Silver Star. For being a damned hero.” He waited for her revulsion and anger and resentment. Instead, he only met her understanding and empathy. And want.

“Very good. Now, you may come in my mouth.”

Her head dipped and she took him deep to the back of her throat in one swift gulp. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around with the perfect pressure. A cry ripped from his lips. Her teeth gently scraped the underside of his dick; she thrust a second finger in his anus, and he let go.

The climax ripped through him and he screamed her name, bucking and coming in her slick, satin heat. His toes arched and his head exploded in sensory overload as every muscle released tension. Mini convulsions wracked him from side to side, and she took all of him, massaging, then crooning to him softly. Drained emotionally and physically, he slumped against the handcuffs and heard her murmur his name. Time slowed and blurred. He caught the sweet scent of soap on her damp hands as she freed him from his restraints and rubbed his sore muscles. Settling him on the bed, she pressed kisses to his forehead as he lay against the cool sheets and let her bathe him with a damp washcloth. He basked in a cocoon of warmth and safety he’d never experienced before, after the most powerful orgasm of his life. In the comforting darkness, he surrendered while held within strong, feminine arms.

Summer blinked away the tears that threatened and she bit her lip to ground herself. The man beside her roused. How would he react after the depth of their emotional scene? In a matter of hours, Rafe Steele had given her more intimacy and passion than she’d ever experienced. His strength humbled her. She shook with the need to belong to him completely, to have him fill her aching pussy.

Dear God, how can I ever go back to my old life? He’d wrecked her for all others—wrecked her for the normal vanilla sex with its nice boundaries and neat actions that barely scratched the surface of deep emotion. By giving in to his needs, his want, he’d given her a priceless gift.

She smoothed back a loose dark curl from his brow with a shaky hand. Would he hate her? Would he blame her for forcing him to tell his most private secrets? And could she blame him? She’d played hard ball and reached for things that most women didn’t try to accomplish for months. Vulnerability turned a man vicious, and she might fall victim.

His eyes opened.

She sucked in a breath at the swirl of emotion in his gaze. Recognition. Lust. Anger. Knowledge. The clock ticked. Her heart squeezed with terror at the idea of him walking away before dawn.

“Summer?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

She looked down at her half naked body and burst out laughing. “I got distracted.” Warmth pumped through her veins and flooded to the center of her thighs. Her nipples swelled to full attention. “Besides, I want you to take them off.”

He sat up, gloriously naked and tousled. “Thank God. That outfit is driving me fucking nuts.”

Still grinning, she slid off the bed in one quick motion. “In a moment. I want you to drink some water.”

“Anything stronger?”

“Water first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her fingers itched to smack his ass, but she loved the dual edge of dominance and subjugation he teetered on. He’d never take a backseat in life or in public. The idea he’d do it in the privacy of the bedroom cranked her lust to a whole new level.

She brought over two glasses of ice water and watched him drink. Satisfied he was properly hydrated, she poured two fingers of Jack Daniels for both of them and settled on the bed. The scent of man, musk, and arousal rose to her nostrils She studied his face carefully, but no resentment or embarrassment glimmered. “How do you feel?”

“Like I had the best orgasm of my life.” His eyes darkened further. “Like I want to do it again, but this time thrusting between your thighs instead of your mouth.”

She smiled. Damn, his sense of humor and honesty blew her away. “Me, too.” He shook his head as if refusing to utter more thoughts. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t believe I shared all that crap with you,” he muttered. “Even my brothers don’t know.”

“I’m not surprised. Men don’t spend too much time analyzing their emotions. Women wallow, and men push it aside and get on with their life. The problem is when the stuff begins to blister.”

“Are you a shrink?” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed. “No. I’m an elementary school teacher.”

“I knew it. Pegged you for a teacher or a librarian from the first.” Questions whirled in his eyes and she waited for him to ask. “So, how does this work? Do I get to ask questions or is this just a one-man show?”

She raised a brow at his tone, secretly enjoying his masculine edge. “I have nothing to hide. If I insist on your honesty at all times, I’m certainly not holding back with you. I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“How did a nice elementary school teacher get hooked up with a one-night stand?”

She sighed. “I’ve always craved dominance in the bedroom. I was raised to believe women took a backseat to men. You know, allow them their full right to be in charge at all times. My mom spent many lessons teaching me to trick my boyfriends into getting what I want using my feminine wiles.” The memories cut deep as she remembered her parents’ own marriage. When her father asked his wife to jump, she asked how high. Summer would have been fine if he’d made her mother happy, but only rage and resentment filled the woman up, pushing away everything good. Including love for her only daughter. “My parents insisted I live up to certain ideals. Church on Sundays. Volunteer programs on weekends. I pursued a teaching degree under their watchful eye, and they even set me up with the man they expected me to marry. They were concerned I grow up with old-fashioned virtue and not become a slut of society.”