12. Mandi
He kept my riding gear.
After all these years.
And they’re in beautiful condition, as if he oiled and cared for them the whole time. What does that mean?
He’s also wearing his riding jacket. The one I fucked for him last night. He didn’t clean it. I can tell, because pale smears of my dried arousal stripe the dark leather.
When he catches me staring, he holds the collar to his nose and inhales so deeply, my pussy clenches in response. My jaw goes slack, my mouth falls open, and he smirks before walking out the door.
Well, he did say he wanted to torture me. Strutting around in his ass-hugging leathers while not letting me touch him is pretty cruel too.
I give him directions and climb onto his bike behind him, careful to hold the passenger grip for stability and not him. I don’t want to feel the harsh sting of rejection again when he tells me I can’t cling to him the way I used to — like a limpet on a strong, sturdy, and dependable, sexy-as-fuck rock.
I daydream all the way to ’Cinda’s place, where I suffer a swift comedown.
It’s the perfect house, really. The kind I used to imagine living in when I was a girl. I drew it for ’Cinda once, when we were younger, but I didn’t think she’d be the one to live in my dream home, with my dream life. Even the fence was painted the same color.
I was a sucker for a picket fence. A gabled roof, shutters, and warm wooden floors that screamed classy and wholesome. The family I imagined inside it were whole and happy — full of smiles and joy, the way it was meant to be. Oh, the na?vety…
I’ve never been close to having the dream, and I never will, because it’s a delusion. That perfect life doesn’t exist. Can never exist. Because I’m imperfect.
Jason takes off his helmet and looks at the house. “Is this the place?”
When I don’t reply, he turns to me and sighs.
“This is the place.” He grabs my hand and drags me through the little gate in the picket fence and up the path. He puts the cooler in my hand and nudges me toward the door. “Go ahead, then.”
I grip the strap of the cooler bag and stare at the knocker. ’Cinda’s going to scream at me if she sees me. I wanted to sneak the milk to her, not confront her with it. I set it on the stoop by the door and slink away before she can catch sight of me through the window or something.
Jason grabs my arm and keeps me from leaving. He knocks on the door, and I glare at him. I try to shake him off so I can run, but he holds firm, watching me like a hawk.
The door opens, and the second my sister sees me, she screeches foul names and lunges for me.
I cover my head and duck, but Jason catches ’Cinda’s hand before she makes contact. I watch through my hair as he walks her back inside her house.
“No.” It’s all he says before shutting her inside, then he yanks me to my feet and pulls me back toward his bike. He releases my arm and shoves me the last few steps, so I nearly stumble. “On.”
I do as I’m told, and he takes me away from yet another home I’m not welcome in.
He takes me to his house, parks his bike in the garage, and makes me sit on the front stoop while he paces in front of me.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
When he finally stops, my stomach is twisted in knots.
“What did you do?” he asks. “Feed her baby with your tits without asking?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never fed him at my breast. Only expressed.”
His eyebrows twitch. “Why?”
I swallow hard and look at his boots instead of his face. “Because ’Cinda wanted her boy to have breastmilk, and she didn’t have any. But feeding him skin to skin would have been too intimate. I’m not the boy’s mother.”
“Why are you saying it like that?” he asks. “Why do you call him the boy?”
“Because she named him Jason,” I whisper, wiping my tears and lifting my chin to meet his gaze, “and I can hardly speak your name when it’s not to your face.”
He stares at me, his jaw ticking. “Why would she do that? Is it her husband’s name? Her father-in-law’s?”
I shake my head. “She did it because she’s an entitled shit, who lured me in with a warm smile and gave me a false sense of security, so I’d do what she wanted. You know how I love to whore myself for a shred of kindness.”
Jason’s face remains deadpan. He says nothing, but he demands more information with his unwavering gaze.
I hang my head and sigh. “She asked me my favorite boy’s name. I thought we were bonding. I didn’t know she was going to use it. And when she did, it wasn’t as any kind of favor. Not like, Oh, look, Mandi. I named him Jason, because you have great taste in names, and I want you to enjoy this kid every day and be happy. More like, That’s right, bitch. I stole your favorite name, and I’m going to live happily ever after with it, while you look on with envy. Had a challenge in her eyes, ready to fight me about it and everything.”
“Did you?” he asks.
“Did I what?”
“Fight her,” he says through his teeth.
“Not right away,” I admit, hugging my knees.
“Of course not,” he says. “You kissed her ass and provided her with breastmilk when she demanded it, because that was what was best for the boy.” He takes a seat beside me and looks out to the street.
“It was best for the baby,” I say defensively.
“I’m not arguing,” he says flatly. “Given the chance to make a child happy, you’d martyr yourself any way you could think to do it.”
My eyes burn with the need to shed tears, and I look up at the sky to keep them from falling before I can blink them away.
“What was best for you?” he asks turning to face me.
I shrug. “I’ve never known the answer to that.”
“Haven’t you?” He searches my eyes, and I look away, scared of what he’ll find.
“When did you fight back?” he asks after a while.
“Later.” I sigh, because of course, he hasn’t forgotten that I said I did. “After the baby came, she got meaner as the days went on. She had what she wanted, and she didn’t need to pretend she wanted me around anymore once the boy started solids. It was her way of encouraging me to leave, but I didn’t get it, at first. Stupid, doormat Amanda hung in there, trying twice as hard to please someone who couldn’t be pleased. She was so mean, even her husband felt sorry for me and tried to compensate by being nicer.”
Jason closes his eyes and exhales in a pained way, as if he solved the puzzle and doesn’t like how it turned out. “You fucked her husband.”
“More than I’m proud of. Whore for a little kindness,” I confirm. “True to my nature.” I rest my chin on my knees and wipe my eyes. “It was easy, too. He always had an eye for me and apparently, when you have a guy’s baby and make its food with your tits, he can’t help but grow more curious about your body. He was nice to me, and he wanted to fuck me, so I let him. And eventually, I led him to do it at the exact time I knew ’Cinda would catch us in the act.”
Jason grips my thigh. Hard enough to bruise. “What did you say?”
I lean into the pain, as I frown. “About which bit?”
He tightens his grip, and I yelp as a sudden jerk gets me airborne. He flips me up and over his shoulder and marches me inside.
“Jason?” I try to wriggle backward to see his face, but he holds me fast.
The door slams behind us, and he strides through the house, before heading downstairs with me.
When the lights come on, they flicker with a warm, candle-like glow. The bulbs are shaped like candle flames, but the wall sconces don’t hold my attention for long once I realize I’m surrounded by instruments of pain.
Jason King wasn’t lying to me. He’s progressed from a little choking, bondage, and spanking to full-blown dungeon torture.
He shrugs me from his shoulder and sets me on my feet, before ripping open my jeans. The dispatched button falls to the floor and bounces under the nearest padded bench, and my heart is in my throat as he wrenches my pants down my legs.
“Do you remember your safe word?” he rumbles.
“Yes,” I squeak. “Do you?”
“You think I could ever forget?” Jason grips the back of my neck and thrusts my head forward, over the nearest bench. “Knees.”
I do as he’s ordered, and he yanks my hands out and locks them into a set of leather cuffs, which are chained to the floor under the bench. He pulls the slack from the chain and secures it, to make escape impossible, then he stalks back and forth in front of the daunting collection of whips, crops, belts, canes, and other items made to inflict pain.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is what I wanted. What I need. I lift my chin and stare straight ahead, waiting patiently until he reaches for his weapon of choice.
“You let your sister take my name,” he says, taking a studded wooded paddle from the wall.
I nod and choke back a sob. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” He comes to stand over me. He runs his flat hand over the smooth metal studs, and then smacks it on his palm in front of my face before moving away again.
“You let her treat you like shit,” he says from behind me.
“Because I am shit.”
The paddle slaps against my bare ass with a sting that takes my breath. It’s a short-lived pain that leaves me achy and restless, as I breathe through it.
“Don’t you dare say that to me ever again,” he says as the throbbing heat sets my ass cheeks on fire.
I sniff as I nod. “I won’t.”
Jason presses the end of the paddle to the base of my neck, and then drags it down my spine, pausing at the top of my ass. “You promised to be mine, and then you ran away and let other men use you and fuck you and treat you like a whore — probably sold yourself for as little as a smile. You think that was them being nice to you?”
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “There’s something wrong with me. I know.”
He grunts and glides the flat back of the paddle down my ass, to rest it against my pussy. “What’s wrong is that you believe all the lies, and you think your pretty little cunt is all you have to offer.” He gives me three quick spanks, right on the pussy, but it does the opposite of hurt. It feels incredible, and when the paddle slaps my sex again, it sounds wet with my desire.
“Look at that,” he says, almost reverently.
The tip of the paddle slips between my folds, and he slides it back and forth in my slick, probing the big, blunt edge at my entrance, as if he may fuck me with the thing.
I rock my ass, to feel it move with me.
“Mmm… Do you get this wet for the liars, Amanda? No wonder they can sniff you out as an easy fuck.”
I stop trying to fuck his paddle. “I’m not an easy fuck.”
He comes in close, forces my hips hard against the bench, and shoves his fat cock inside me so roughly, I cry out.
Stretched to my limits, I gasp for breath and beg my body to adjust, but there’s no time for that.
“Are you sure?” He slams into me again and again, until my chains are rattling. “Feels pretty easy to me.”
His next thrust forces the air from my lungs.
He pulls out and smacks the paddle against my pussy perfectly. The hot sting radiates from the impact and joins the empty ache his cock left behind, until I’m throbbing inside and out with need. If he edges me to the point of frustration and stops again, I’m going to scream.
He strikes my pussy twice with his flat palm, and when he places an expert slap on my clit with the pads of his fingers, I lower my head and moan, as my core shudders and zings.
Jason tugs my head back up by my hair and holds his hand in front of my face, so I can see my juices splattered over his skin. “Lick it clean.”
I make quick work of it, and then he steps in front of me, wearing only his black T-shirt. His thick cock points at me in accusation, glistening with my juices too. His voice is deep and husky when he lifts his shirt slightly, presents me with his thick, brutal manhood, and delivers his next command. “Again.”
I suck every lick of arousal from his cock, while he holds me by the hair and fucks my mouth.
He glares down at me, as I dribble and mess my face, doing everything I can to please him. I take him deep, and treat him as best I know how, begging him with my eyes to show me I’ve done well — to reward me with his pleasure, so I can drink it down and feel whole.
He snarls and pulls himself from my mouth. “You think I can come for you, after what you’ve done?”
The rejection strikes my heart like a whip. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, keeping my focus on the string of spit that still links me to his cock.
He crouches in front of me, and slides his fingers over the studs on the paddle, before he meets my gaze. “How sorry?”
“The most sorry there is,” I say without pause, wishing he could know how sorry I am that I couldn’t stay with him and live a completely different life from the one I’ve had.
“I believe you,” he finally says. He stands and walks away calmly. “I believe you want to take responsibility for your actions and the pain they caused. So… how many times should your ass feel my pain, Amanda? Tell me what you think is fair.”
I press my head to the leather bench and groan. Amanda. That fucking name. I don’t ever want to hear it from his lips again, but I can’t imagine he’ll call me by any other until he’s shown me how badly he still hurts.
I lift my head and stare straight ahead, bracing myself for the worst. “As many times as it takes for you to forgive me.”
“How many?” he shouts so loudly, I startle. I jump again when he brings the paddle down so hard on the leather bench beside me, the studs leave imprints. “How many strikes for having another man’s baby?”
I look up in alarm at his tone and shake my head, as tears stream down my face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh? Then what was it like, Amanda?” he asks, holding his hand to his chest in some sarcastic gesture of apology for his mistake.
Then his face falls. He goes completely still, except for one twitching eye and the creeping red tide rising up his neck. “Did he make you do it?” he forces between his teeth. “Do I need to go peel his spine from his body?”
My pussy flutters at his unguarded words, as they reveal his lingering protective feelings for me. He still cares. I shake my head and open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“So you provided him with offspring willingly? Because he was nice?” He practically spits the words. “Is that it? Or did you do it out of spite?” His voice turns cold and heartless. “You saw your sister happy and wanted to see how it felt, so you lured the man in and spread your legs for his seed.”
His eyes are wild, his nostrils flare with every exhale, and he’s gripping his paddle so tightly, his knuckles have turned white.
“Tell me all about it, Amanda.” He bares his teeth in an insane-looking grimace. “I’m dying to know what it was like, to fuck your sister’s husband and carry the man’s child, you mind-twisting, heart-breaking, soap-opera-worthy fucking brat.”
I’m barely able to work my jaw to form a response. I’ve never seen him this angry.
He wipes his arm over his mouth to clear the spittle produced by his rant, and his face is flushed with rage.
“It w-wasn’t mine,” I force out through my panic, but I have no volume. I pull at the chain securing my cuffs, and reach for my throat as I shake my head, to show him I’m trying to speak, but I’ve lost him.
His eyes are unseeing, as he turns toward the nearest wall and slumps against it. The paddle slips from his hand and clatters to the floor, and he slowly sinks to his knees. “I fucking loved you,” he whispers.
I rattle my chains and smack them against the bench. “Dingle-hammer,” I croak out, before I suck in the huge breath that’s been evading me. “Dingle-hammer,” I say more clearly. Loudly.
Jason pushes himself to stand and kicks the release lever on the chain before tugging roughly at the buckles on my leather shackles. “You’re right. That’s all the punishment I can handle today, too. You’re free to go, Mandi,” He pulls on his boxers and drags his feet to the stairs.
“It wasn’t my baby, Jason,” I call after him, hurrying to pull up my pants, so I can follow. “It was Luke and ’Cinda’s baby. Not mine. It wasn’t fucked into me; it was injected. And I didn’t do it because anyone made me. I did it because my sister couldn’t conceive, and I wanted her to love me. Okay? I was their surrogate.”
He slowly turns to face me, and I purge myself of the truth, for him to reconsider his judgment. “’Cinda had lost every fucking bun they tried to bake, and I couldn’t stand to see her so sad, so I loaned them my oven. It was something I could do, and it was a chance for me to finally do something right. For my family to see I wasn’t a completely useless fuckup. So ’Cinda would be able to look my way and not roll her eyes and sigh like Mom. I wanted her to love me.”
I lower my head and wipe my face, as I sniff. “But she didn’t. Not really. Not the way I care about her. And I know that’s my fault. I’m awful and hard to love, and I make bad choices when I’m hurting. I don’t know how to make people really care, Jason. You’re the only one who ever did, but I fucked that up, too. I don’t blame you for hating me, but I?—”
He grips my throat, pins me to the wall, and steps down, until our eyes are nearly level. “You did that for her?” he asks, watching me closely, as he slides his free hand over my breasts and down, to rest on my stomach.
“She was so sad.” I struggle to swallow under the pressure at my throat. “And it was something I could do.” I wince at how stupid I had been. “But it wasn’t enough.”
Jason releases me and pulls me into a big, warm hug that I can’t help but melt into. He smells so good, I want to burrow under his soft T-shirt — under his skin — and make him my home, but he’d only end up needing to cut me out when I caused irritation and festered.
“If they can’t appreciate you, then they don’t deserve you.” He strokes my hair before kissing the top of my head. “Don’t ever beg for love that comes with conditions.”
“Can I beg for your love?” I whisper against his strong chest.
He keeps his lips press to my hair, but he doesn’t answer right away. My scalp warms every time he exhales, and I count twenty-seven breaths before he finally says, “I don’t know yet.”
I nod as best I can in my tight confines. It’s not a no. And I can trust that he’s thinking about it. “That’s fair.”
He grunts softly, lifts me into his arms, and takes me up the stairs. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes, knowing I’m safe and cared about, even if I still have sins for him to forgive.
“I know you probably don’t believe me, but I love you without conditions, Jason King,” I say quietly, as he carries me to his kitchen. “And for the record, your babies are the only ones I’ve ever wanted to have.”