Claimed Harder by Em Brown
Chapter 12
BRIDGET
Past
Iwake up in the middle of the night and remember the food never got put away, but Darren tells me to forget it and promptly pulls me back into bed. Within minutes, we’re at it again, this time in a spooning position, which I’ve never done before. I love it because he strokes my clit while he bucks his hips into my backside.
He doesn’t thrust into me as hard as last time, possibly because he doesn’t have the same leverage lying on his side. I’m starting to feel a little raw from all the sex, but the orgasms are so worth it. Even as a horny teenager, I haven’t been turned on like this. And even the quasi-BDSM elements are titillating. I didn’t think they would be. The “sir” part of it isn’t my favorite. Like there isn’t enough misogyny and inequity between the sexes outside the bedroom.
But for now, I’ll humor him. Because deep down, I don’t think he’s a chauvinist, though I don’t have any proof of that fact. Does being into the power play of BDSM automatically make him a chauvinist? Maybe. I really don’t know enough about BDSM to say. If he confines the playing to the bedroom, then maybe not. So a male dominant, female submissive thing in BDSM isn’t automatically rooted in chauvinism. It depends on the individual.
This is the kind of discussion I can see happening in a college seminar. I tell my brain to shut up so I can drift back to sleep in Darren’s arms. He pulls a bedsheet over our lower bodies, and I tell myself not to get too caught up in all the feel-good hormones that have flooded me. It’s too easy to fall in love with how great it feels to have the heat of his body embracing mine. I feel like Amy’s fallen hard for JD, slacking off on school and her job as a waitress at a high-end restaurant. I don’t want that to be me.
And somehow I’ve agreed to go to Phuket.
Crap.
Well, he can’t hold me to it if I my supervisor’s not okay with it.
“Something on your mind?” Darren asks.
Sunlight peaks in from between the blinds. I realize I’ve been staring up at the ceiling since waking.
“Thinking about Phuket,” I reply. I turn to face him. “What would you do if you were in my position?”
He’s lying on his back and puts a hand behind his head. “What do you mean?”
“Like, would you have lied and called in sick?”
“I’d just go.”
“Yeah, but, let’s say you really liked your internship and your supervisor isn’t keen on you going. Would you lie then?”
“Maybe.”
I already had a feeling he wasn’t an angelic Boy Scout, but I’m a little concerned how far off he is. I remember him saying he didn’t have a moral compass, but I thought he was just being facetious. “So you don’t have a problem with lying?”
He glances briefly at me. “Depends on the situation.”
“Like calling in sick to work when you’re not sick.”
“If I wanted to go to Phuket more than I wanted the job, then I’d go to Phuket.”
“But that’s not the hypothetical. The hypothetical is that you want the job more than you want Phuket.”
“Fine. If lying means I get to keep my job and go to Phuket, then I’d lie.”
I wrinkle my nose. It’s not the answer I would have preferred to hear from him. “Your guilty conscience would let you do that?”
He gives a wry laugh. “Who says I’d have a guilty conscience?”
“Would you ever have a problem with lying?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Everyone lies. Unless you’re some saint. Even then, I bet there’s a lie in that history somewhere.”
“There are degrees to lying.”
“What’s the biggest lie you ever told?”
I think back. “When my grandma asked who ate two of the Christmas cookies she had baked for her boss, I lied and said it wasn’t me.”
Darren lifts a brow. “And how old were you then?”
“Eight.”
He groans. “You haven’t lied since you were eight?”
“White lies, sure. I can’t remember feeling as bad as I did about those cookies, though. I was sure Santa wasn’t going to come that year.”
“But he did.”
“Yes.”
“See. Lies aren’t so bad.”
“What was your biggest lie?”
His face darkens, and he doesn’t answer right away. Not a good sign.
“There’s too many to choose from,” he growls, looking away.
At least he’s honest.
“Just choose one,” I say, feeling a little nervous.
He thinks for several beats, then says, “When I was in high school, I covered for JD and told the principal that JD was with me and therefore couldn’t have been the one to put a stink bomb in the PE teacher’s office.”
Okay, that’s not too bad a lie.
“Was JD the one who did it?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“But that’s not the worst lie you ever told,” I venture.
Before I know it, he’s on top of me. I can feel his super-hard cock against me.
“It’s not,” he acknowledges, “’cause I’m not as good as you, Miss I-don’t-drink-before-I’m-twenty-one. You probably shouldn’t be fucking a guy who lies and breaks rules.”
He pushes the pajama top over my breast and takes a nipple into his mouth.
I gasp. “Yeah, probably not.”
“I think you’re trying to spice up your life, Bridge. Maybe being good is getting a little boring for you.”
“I don’t think being good is boring.”
He presses his groin against me. I gasp because he’s really close to entering me. Part of me actually wants it, and when his gaze locks with mine, I think he sees my desire.
“It’d feel good, Bridge,” he says.
“What would?” I return, even though I’m pretty sure I know what he’s referring to.
“Being inside you without anything.”
I can barely catch my breath. “But I’m not on birth control.”
“Nothing? No pill or…?”
“Nada. The pill gave me nausea, and I just haven’t gotten around to trying anything else. Besides, pills or shots don’t protect against STDs.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that my responsible side has come through. That it even wavered makes me nervous. I’m beginning to think Darren might be a bad influence on me.
“All right,” he says. “Why don’t you play with yourself while I get the condom.”
“Play with myself?”
“Yeah. Show me how you masturbate.”
Okay. I slide my hand between my thighs.
“Bend your knees and spread your legs so I can see better,” he directs as he reaches for the drawer of his bedside table.
I do so and tease my clit with a finger. He tears open the wrapper of the condom and rolls it down his shaft.
“That all you do?” he asks.
“Mostly. I share a room with Amy, you know.”
He grins. “She ever catch you?”
I shake my head. “Though I walked in on her and her ex once.”
Darren takes my free hand and places it over a breast. “Work it.”
I feel myself up, feeling a touch self-conscious, but then, seeing the smolder in his eyes, I start to get into it.
“Nice,” he says. “Keep going.”
While I fondle and grope myself, he reaches for additional restraints near the ends of the headboard. I try not to think about how many women he might have bound to his bed.
Lifting my ankle, he claps on a restraint and does the same to the other. My legs are pulled apart in the air, toward the headboard behind me, making me wish I were more flexible. He pulls two pillows beneath me to elevate my butt.
“Don’t stop,” he tells me when I pull my hand from my clit.
He kneels before me and sinks his fingers into my slit. I continue to masturbate while he finger-fucks me. Our fingers graze against each other sometime. I can feel my wetness flow down to my crack. After several minutes, I’m on my way up to the peak of rapture.
I groan with delight when he replaces his fingers with his cock. Its hardness is exactly what I need. He rolls his hips at first, filling me with pleasure. Then he thrusts harder. I grunt in surprise.
“Too hard?” he asks.
“No,” I answer.
He bucks harder. “Can you take that?”
I nod.
But the next set of shoves are definitely uncomfortable. I grimace.
“Too hard,” he replies for me.
“Yeah.”
He reaches for the wand that was left in the bed and turns it on. “Hold this to your clit.”
Oh no. The wand is fabulous, but it takes a little getting used to at first. I touch it tentatively to my clit and try not to laugh. He returns to rolling his hips more gently. I press the wand a little longer on my clit this time. He watches me, amused and turned on. When it seems his patience is done, he grabs my hand and presses the wand more fully on my clit.
“Ahhh!” I cry out.
But my body adjusts to the vibrations and welcomes the stimulation. Darren moves his hips faster and harder, shoving me toward the headboard. He increases the pounding as the delicious percolation between my thighs intensifies. Soon, Darren is driving into me like there’s no tomorrow, but the stabbing pain is overshadowed by my impending climax.
“Oh, fuck!” I swear before I explode, my legs straining wildly against the restraints.
Darren grunts his way to his climax, but my body is too busy being buffeted between waves of euphoria to notice. When I’m finally able to pull away the wand, the area between my thighs is throbbing like crazy. Little tremors still shoot through my legs haphazardly.
“You can keep the wand,” Darren says when we’ve both recovered from our orgasms. “Practice with the higher settings.”
My eyes glaze over. Higher settings?
“Then let me know how it goes.”
“I’ve got to report back to you?” I joke.
“Yes,” he replies before undoing the restraints from my ankles.
“You’re serious.”
He looks at me like I’m weird for thinking otherwise.
“And if I don’t fit in any of this ‘practice?’” I challenge.
“Then there are consequences.”
“Consequences? Like what?”
He gives me a devilish grin. “You’re welcome to find out.”
I look at the wand. I get the feeling this “gift” will prove to be a Trojan horse.
