Whistler by K.L. Savage
“Bring Bolt in here,” Whistler says as he secures the Scapegoat.
We aren’t in a room I would call ‘a torture chamber’ like the Kings have. They call theirs the playroom, but this room is an actual playroom with whips and chains and ropes. Right now, Mercy is improvising since we don’t have the room we want built yet. It’s going to be a part of the clubhouse.
So, we have this fucker bound in rope.
BDSM style.
And I’m doing my best not to laugh. His limbs are spread out like a starfish as he hangs from the ceiling. Mercy can turn him and the rope will spin so that the stranger is in front of someone else and they can have a turn.
A violent turn, not a sexual one. Clarification is important to me since we are in a fucking sex room.
Jesus, if the Kings found out about this…
Princess leaves the door open, and I can hear him clomping down the steps.
The Scapegoat doesn’t say anything. He glares at Mercy while Prez smiles. I’m studying the room and the longer I stay in here with a half−naked guy strung up like a deer ready to be skinned, the more awkward I feel.
There’s a bed behind him.
It's draped in silk sheets and the walls are a dark emerald velvet material.
“Prez, you sure you want to do this in here? It’s a nice room,” I mumble out of the corner of my mouth so no one can hear me.
“I know it isn’t conventional, but this room is soundproof,” Prez informs, slamming the door shut when Bolt and Princess come back. “And we need to make sure there isn’t a soul nearby that can hear his screams. That’s why it’s the only room I didn’t have renovated up here.” Prez spins our guest until the rope is tight and then lets go.
The Scapegoat turns into a blur as he quickly spins in a circle as the rope loosens. I fix my stance and practice swinging my bat while our captive slows. When he finally comes to a stop, his head sways and his face turns pale before he vomits. The white, chunky foam slides down his chin and chest.
Mercy sighs in annoyance. “You realize I’m going to have to clean that up when it gets on the floor? You can’t handle a little dizziness? No wonder Kenneth sent you here.”
“Kenneth?” the man asks in confusion, slurring his words as his normalcy returns. “He didn’t send me. His father did. He wanted to let you know we are always watching, and when you least expect it, we will take her,” he grins.
“He sent you here to die.” Bolt charges forward and slams two metal rods into the Scapegoat’s thighs. Blood begins to trickle from the wounds and down his legs.
He screams and Bolt’s dark laughter has my fingers curling around the handle of my bat. The fucker is twisted in the head. He grips the back of the Scapegoat’s head by the thick of his hair and attaches a red clip to one rod and a black to the other, similar to when someone charges a battery. “I like my prisoners well done,” he lunges forward and bites at the air.
He steps back and flips a switch on his machine. A low buzz causes the lights to flicker and sparks fly across the wires before our prisoner begins to tremble from the electricity coursing through his body.
Mercy flips the switch again and the electricity comes to a stop.
“Prez, I was just getting started,” Bolt pouts.
“Don’t want him dead just yet,” Mercy says, keeping his eyes on the smoke coming from the rods embedded in his legs. He plays with the knob that adjusts the electrical waves. Turning it to the right will fry the guy. “Where is his father?”
The guy doesn’t say anything.
“Listen, you not saying anything only hurts you. You say something, you get to leave here alive.”
“You’re lying,” the Scapegoat sneers.
“Am I?” Mercy drags a chair from the corner, spins it around, and sits down. “I don’t know what you know about me, but I’m known for my mercy.”
“It’s true. He’s so much nicer than all the other dark−hearted people in the world.” I tap the end of my bat on the ground. “Like me. I wouldn’t let you walk out of here.”
“Mmm, never said he’d be able to walk.” Mercy twists the knob ever so slightly and flips the switch. The jolts hum as they travel across to the rods and spit begins to fly out of our new friend’s mouth. When the vein in his forehead begins to pop, Mercy adds just a little more and Bolts cackles, staring in obsession as the Scapegoat gets electrocuted.
Prez turns the knob to left and ends the torture. “Whistler. Get into swinging position.”
I grin, knocking the tips of my boot with my bat out of habit like they are cleats.
“See, you’re going to want to speak,” Mercy warns, gripping the guy by the neck. “I don’t do well with men threatening to abuse women and your bosses do just that. You work for them, so you can’t be much better. I’m going to ask one more time. Tell us what we need to know and you’ll live or—” Mercy eyes me, giving me permission to do what I’m best at.
I stand to the side and the guys begin to stomp their feet which fuels me. I swing my bat slowly as I practice, and the Scapegoat’s eyes widen when he sees the nails in my bat.
Stepping a bit closer, I grip the handle and zoom in on his lower back, twisting as I swing. The whistle is clear like the wind howling on a stormy day. The loud crunch of my bat hitting him, along with his screams, is music along to my ears. Giving the bat a wiggle to dislodge the nails embedded in his skin, it finally comes free.
He’s screaming, his lower body limp. He was standing on his tiptoes, but now his feet are curled under, scratching against the floor.
Yeah, walking out of here is out of the question.
“I’ll have every single one of my guys ruin you until you’re nothing but fucking bait.”
“Kenneth’s wife knows,” he says. “You want answers, she’s got them.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
Wife.
She doesn’t belong to Kenneth. She belongs to me.
I swing my bat again, in the same spot as I did before, and the guy cries out, sobs actually.
Huh. He must still be able to feel his legs.
“They aren’t married, and we aren’t asking her because she’s been through enough. We’re asking you,” I state, placing my bat under his chin to push his head up so he is forced to look at me. Blood drips thickly from the nails as I meet his eyes.
“Please,” he begs. “I needed money for my family and Kenneth offered so much.”
“Money. Is it money that will make you talk? I have money. If it’s what you need, it’s yours.”
“Aw, so nice of you, Prez,” Princess awes.
“I’m a nice guy.”
“I’ll tell you. I swear, I’ll tell you.” The man breaks.
“Damn, that was fast. I wanted to have more fun.” Bolt grips the rods and yanks them out of the Scapegoat’s thighs. The pain is too much for the little guy to bear and he passes out.
“Damn it.” Mercy stands and punches the guy in the face, which does nothing.
He hangs limp.
“Can’t handle a little roughin’ up and he’s hanging out with drug lords.” Mercy scoffs. “I don’t want to waste time, so I need you to go talk to Charlie and see what she knows.”
“Prez, come on. I don’t want to bother her with this. She doesn’t need to be more involved than she has been over the last few years.”
“The difference is that she’ll know. I want to attack before he has time to fucking blink. I’m not going to sit here and wait for another dead body or video or another one of his grunts to show up. I want to take care of this problem. Now. Do as I say, or we will have problems, Whistler.”
I curl my lip at him and lean my bat against the wall and nod. “Fine, but don’t be surprised if she doesn’t know anything.” I take one last look at our captive and head out the door, annoyed he conveniently passed out before we got what we needed out of him.
Not knowing where to search for Charlie first, I keep left and go inside the bedroom she’s been staying in with me since we got back from the beach. I hear water running from the bathroom, not the spray of the shower, but the rush of the faucet as the tub fills.
The door is cracked just enough I can smell the lavender bubble bath. The hinges creak as I step inside and see her in the tub, her hair up in a messy bun with a few loose strands framing her face. She’s puffy eyed from crying, her cheeks red, and her lips swollen from her nibbling on them with her teeth.
I’m going to have to break that habit. Her lips are too perfect for such abuse.
“Cupcake, what’s on in that gorgeous mind? What’s wrong?” I kneel on the ground and double-check my hands for any blood. When I don’t see any, I wipe her tears away softly.
She flinches.
“I’m sorry,” she says, bringing the bubbles closer to her chest.
“For what, Cupcake.” I snag the loofah on the side and dip it in the water and begin to gently scrub her body, starting with one leg.
She stares up at the ceiling, her head leaning against the back of the tub. It reminds me to buy one of those pillows for support. Her bottom lip wobbles. “For everything. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for me. I should go back and your issues would be taken care of.”
It pisses me off that she thinks like that. Boots and all, I climb into the tub and pull her towards me.
She sniffles and stares at me with bepuzzled brows. “What are you doing? Your clothes…”
“I don’t care about my clothes. I care about you.” The water is hot and helps relieve the stress, but the looming question hangs over my head that I need to ask her. “This isn’t on you. This is on him and don’t forget, my sister is just as much involved in this as you are, so really, I’m the common denominator. If I wasn’t around, this wouldn’t be happening to the people I care about. And I do, babe. I care about you and her.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me, settling her on my lap. Her legs wrap around my waist and her arms around my neck. “So beautiful. Anyone who has ever hurt you was a damn idiot and anyone who dares to hurt you again will have to go through me.” The water sloshes as I lift my hand to her neck, then skim my fingers down and trace the swell of her breasts. “I need to ask, what do you know about Kenneth, Cupcake? About the Scapegoats?”
She arches her back and her hands grip my drenched jeans to get more of my touch. I stop skimming her flushed skin kissed by the hot water so she can focus. We need to get out of the tub, but it’s actually more productive for me because these damn clothes are so uncomfortable. Once I get the answers we need, I’ll pick her up and lay her down on the bed if she lets me.
We’ve had sex twice since the beach and each time she’s tied me up and rode me to the high heavens.
I’m not complaining. She can fuck me, use me until she’s spent, and ride my cock until she’s seeing stars. As long as she gets hers, I’m happy.
But damn it, I want to touch her.
She leans her head down on my shoulder and her breath drifts over the side of my neck. “I don’t know anything. I’m sorry, Whistler. He didn’t share anything with me. He wasn’t the sharing type.”
“Anything. It doesn’t have to be anything specific. Did he meet his dad anywhere? Go anywhere for long periods of time?” I push, needing the tiniest clue.
She leans away and stares at the large accumulation of bubbles to the left of us. “He liked to go to the Hoover Dam a lot. He said it is his dad’s favorite place, but that’s it, I swear. I’m not keeping anything from you, Whistler. I’d tell you if I knew anything about their operation or whatever they do. I promise. You have to believe me.” She twists her hands into my shirt and her blue eyes widen as she waits for me to respond.
“Hey, I know that.” I stroke her arm up and down while not breaking eye contact. “I know you’d tell me the truth because that’s the kind of person you are. You don’t hide anything and I won’t hide anything from you either. Okay? I promise.” I kiss her lips and groan when I feel how they give and melt against mine. “Thank you, Cupcake.”
I reach for my phone on the counter and thank the stars I remembered to take it out of my pocket before climbing in the tub, which reminds me…
There’s water all over the floor from it sloshing over the edge.
I text Mercy the information and his reply is immediate.
“Sending Bolt, Halfpint, Hashtag, Moose, and Tutu to survey. We will reconvene tonight.”
I toss my phone across the floor through the wet puddles accumulating, not giving a damn about the plan, the target, the kill, or the Scapegoat hanging in the BDSM room. I don’t give a fuck.
My only care, the only person I give a damn about right now, is Charlie. I stand up, keeping my hands on her ass as I lift her out of the water. Her legs are wrapped around my waist and she has her arms tightened around my neck as I step out of the tub, a waterfall cascading into the tub from her body and my clothes.
I step out, not giving a damn about the mess on the floor either. I’ll worry about it later.
Managing to hold her with one arm, I use the trim to hold myself up as I kick off my soggy boots.
As I walk, every step squishes against the ground and I notice the bedroom door open.
Oh, fuck no. No one is allowed to see my girl naked.
I kick it shut, then lock it for good measure.
The air in the room changes, but there isn’t a desperate edge or a suffocating amount of lust. The energy is fragile, delicate, and unsure, but the desire grows.
I can feel it.
Dripping in water, I lie her down on the bed, the comforter becoming wet, the water spreading as the material soaks it up.
I cup the back of her head and my world stops and starts again as our lips meet. She’s shaking, but she isn’t cold.
She’s terrified.
“Tie me up again, Cupcake. I only want you comfortable,” I say, delving my tongue between her lips, the soft tangle of her tongue getting lost in mine.
“No,” she shakes her head. “No, I want you. I have since the first time. I was just scared, but I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she admits, her trembling palm resting over my heart. “I don’t want to be afraid of us.”
I feel like she’s holding back something else, but I can’t tell what it is.
“I’ll take care of you, Cupcake.” I drag my hands down her body, languid and lazy so she can say stop. “I’ll always take care of you.” When I reach her hips, I grab onto them and hoist her into the middle of the bed.
She gasps and I freeze, waiting for her to say the word stop. I will stop too. Every time.
But lust is swirling her baby blues into whirlpools. She lifts up and slides my waterlogged cut off, then grips the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head. She tosses it to the floor and all I hear is a wet plop.
My breaths are harsh as I flatten her against the mattress and look my fill of what’s mine. All fucking mine. Those tits, those freckles, the dip in her waist, and her tight cunt. All of her belongs to me.
I pluck her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, and watch her writhe and moan. Her arms smack against the bed and she fists the comforter, stretching her neck back with her eyes shut as she enjoys the pleasure.
Only ever pleasure.
That’s all she will feel from me.
“Whistler,” she moans. Her ribs press under her flesh as her back bows.
I bend down and pause before taking her nipple into my mouth. I look up at her and see her blissed-out expression, her hands still clutching the blanket. I latch my mouth onto her cherry red bead, moaning as I flick my tongue across the tip.
Every inch of her sweetness is my favorite dessert.
“Wesley,” she whimpers my name, her body jerking, and I bite down a little harder, testing the boundaries I can push without going too far.
I let go of her strawberry flavored sprinkle, blowing cold air onto the hard candy, watching it tighten further.
The air conditioning kicks on and I peel my eyes from her body to the vent from the unexpected sound. Straightening, I roam my hands down her body and slide my palms up my thighs until I get to my zipper.
She props herself up and her shaking hands unsnap the button while I lower the zipper. I’m slow, cautious, and don’t want to scare her away, but she doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Charlie isn’t tearing at my clothes, she’s reserved, but she’s trying to break free from her fear and I’m not going to rush her.
Charlie rolls the waistband of my jeans and tugs them down my legs until I can kick them free. Her mouth opens and she leans forward, flattening her tongue against my shaft, then swirling it around the head. Charlie licks the tip and leans back, swallowing the bit of precome she gathered on her tongue.
She moves her hair out of the way and lies down onto her back, spreading her legs and offering herself to me.
I have to take a minute because there’s a weight on my chest making it difficult to catch my breath and I look at her in amazement. I know she’s never offered herself to anyone like she has to me in this moment.
Men have taken, taken, and taken, and she’s giving herself to me. Me. Out of everyone in the world, she picked me.
I’m the luckiest guy alive.
“I swear, I’m always going to take care of you, even more than I take care of myself. You’ll always be my priority.” I roam my hands up her smooth legs and her eyes water the closer I get. “We don’t have to, Cupcake. There’s no pressure.”
“No!” She pulls me down by wrapping her arms around me. “No,” the words ghost over my ear. “I’m not scared. I’m happy. I’m relieved I’m with you. I trust you.” She kisses my cheek and drags her lips across the edge of my jaw until she’s at my mouth. “I trust you,” the words are whispered across my lips.
I pull myself closer, crawling until I’m settled over her, lifting one leg over my hips while sliding one arm under her back. The first thing I notice as my fingers spread between her shoulder blades is how soft her skin is. I could lie here for hours just like this, body pressed against hers, lips teasing mine, her skin reacting to my touch, and I’d be the happiest man alive.
“If hurting you meant feeling happiness, I’d forever want to live in misery,” I tell her before dropping my lips to hers, kissing her as if my life depends on it.
And it does.
My life depends on hers, on her happiness and well−being.
We kiss lazily, sliding against each other, dancing our tongues together before I reach between us and line up my cock with her entrance.
I don’t dare take my eyes off hers as I inch forward, the head of my cock nestled inside her. Removing my hand and placing it on her shoulder, I press forward, inhaling a strangled breath at the same time she does as I stretch her open.
Her nails turn to claws as they dig into my shoulder and I groan from the pinch of pain. I can take anything she gives me and it won’t ever change the fact that the only thing I’ll ever give her is pleasure.
“Oh god, Wesley. So good,” she mumbles, relaxing at last when I’m as far as I can go. “You feel so good. You’re so much deeper like this.” Her hands drag down my back and squeeze the globes of my ass, pulling me closer, which surges me forward.
I’m pressed in her to the hilt.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. If I do, I’ll come too fast. She feels incredible, but it’s how we’ve worked up to this moment that has me hanging by a thread.
The bed begins to shake as I quicken the pace and snap my hips. One hand gripping her tit, the other squeezing her thigh, I rock against her faster. She cries my name, the long column of her throat on display.
I can’t ignore it.
I dive down and lick across the pale skin, moaning at the lavender scent clinging to her. I planned to go easy, slow, and work our way up to hard but my control slips. Harder and faster, I plunge into her tight heat, cloaking myself in her nectar.
Every second that passes she becomes wetter and her sounds, her body’s reaction to me, it’s all for me. No one else, not because of anyone or anything else. There are no outside influences.
Just me.
I’m making her feel like this.
Hungry, starved, and impatient for my cock just like I am for her sweet cupcake.
I curl my hands around her shoulders and use them as support to hold onto her harder, forcing myself to move faster. God, I’m desperate.
“Wesley! Oh my god, more. More, please. Faster. Faster, damn it!”
I don’t know what happened to my plan but hearing her cry out for more has everything damned to hell.
“You want me harder, baby?” I pull out, my cock coated with her icing and slide my fingers through her folds, bringing my fingers to my mouth. I suck them clean, satisfying my sweet tooth.
“Yes,” she hisses, lifting her hips to impale herself on my cock again.
So much for gentle. I can’t deny her anything.
In the blink of an eye, I flip her onto her stomach and plaster myself against her back, rutting my cock between her ass cheeks. “Maybe I’ll fuck you there one day too. Own you in every hole. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I nip at the shell of her ear.
“Yes, god, please. Take me now. I don’t care.” She bends her lower back, pushing her ass up which causes my perfectly aligned cock to sink into her hot, wicked depths.
I growl, holding her shoulders tight while I stare at where we are connected, watching her fuck me from the bottom. Every fat inch of me disappears into her cunt, the flesh shining every time I slide out, only to slide back in.
Right where I belong.
“You keep doing that, and I’m going to come,” I warn, gritting my teeth when she ignores me, flexing her muscles inside. “Fuck!” I cry out and my orgasm barrels inside me. I yank out from her heated grip.
Breath heaving.
Chest rising.
Fist clenching.
A pearly white drop escapes my slit, my orgasm at the brink of shattering my control. I’m shaking, trembling, and holding back is beginning to hurt. The denial burns my shaft and creates an ache in my balls that quickly diminishes the orgasm.
She peers over her shoulder, looking innocent and clueless while batting her eyelashes at me.
“I think someone wants to be fucked,” I sneer, flipping her over onto her back again. I drag her to the head of the mattress, spread her legs with my knees, grip the headboard with my hands, and stare down at her through sweat stinging my eyes.
She circles her clit for a minute, which has me licking my lips as my mouth waters, watching the sensitive swollen bundle peek between her fingers while she pinches it. I slide my cock against her to join her and Charlie takes control, grips my cock, and places me at her hole.
I stretch my fingers one by one before curling them around the headboard again and thrust in, hard and unrelenting. I continue the rough speed, trying to fuck her harder with every stroke. Our bodies slap together and mix with her loud screams of ecstasy.
While playing with her clit, she uses one hand to fondle her nipple.
The bed bangs against the wall. The mattress squeaks. It sounds like I’m hurting her, but I’m not. Her face is red and when she’s close, she claws at my chest and bites down on her lip.
“Wesley!” the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard while she clamps down around me.
Her orgasm stops her movement, and she grins before disbelief takes over and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her body levitates off the bed, her body possessed by me and me alone.
Her muscles work my cock up and down, sucking me deeper into her womb until I can’t take anymore.
“Charlie! Fuck, baby,” I grind out as I come.
I continue to use the headboard to push myself deeper with every jet that leaves me, planting myself so my come stays and lingers.
We gasp for breath as I fall to the side of her, not wanting to crush her with my weight. I groan and kiss her shoulder, holding her as if I never want to let go.
And I don’t.
We fall asleep tangled up in each other’s embrace. The last boundary has been crossed and I feel closer to her than I ever have. I’ll never abuse her trust again not when I’m right where I want to be.
If someone ever asks me what my favorite memory is, the answer would be simple.
Here. With her. Naked. Spent. Tangled in sheets. And in love.
